


Dressed in Black

by Habren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Agoraphobia, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, An idea that got out of hand, F/F, Happy Ending, It was supposed to be a one-shot, One of my favorites so far, They are a bit more damaged here, emotional smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Habren/pseuds/Habren
Summary: Trapped in different cages, a surprising request leads to a series of Friday evening meetings that change Hermione's and Narcissa's lives forever.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 48
Kudos: 175





	1. Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yanana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yanana/gifts).



> This one is a bit different. It was kinda an experiment based on E telling me, hey, remember, you still wanted to write the one where... I said, oh yes, that'll probably be a quick one-shot. It wasn't. Still, this came out surprisingly pleasant, and I hope you guys like it, too.  
> I chose the title based on the song "Dressed in Black" by Sia, and while I love the song, I did so originally for the word play alone, until I realized later that it fits the story, too.
> 
> EM: Thank you for your ideas and brainstorming. This is the one you wanted (or one of them). You really need to stop coming up with new stories for me to write.  
> TT: As always, I continue to be amazed by you, and my thanks to you springs eternal. My life and writing would suck without you.  
> BG: I think you'd have liked this one.

“I need your help,” Draco said after entering Hermione’s office.

Hermione lowered her quill and raised her head. “What?”

Draco and she had gotten over the past, but she wouldn’t call them friends. He was much closer to Harry than to her, and she couldn’t imagine the reasoning behind his request, or behind his pale apparition in her office. Were those blood-shot eyes? He surely wouldn’t show up drunk to work.

“OK. Help with what?” She asked, refraining from tapping her quill against her desk when Draco’s gaze dropped to his shuffling feet.

He heaved a sigh. “It’s my mother.”

“What about her?”

He avoided her gaze. “I need you to talk to her.”

Hermione opened her mouth before closing it again. “What? Why?”

Another sigh. Now he shoved his hands into his robe pockets.

“I don’t have all day,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know who to talk to, and you’re a woman, too, so I thought maybe that makes things easier? I don’t know!” He scuffed his feet against the floor.

“I still don’t know what this is about, or what you want me to do. Apparently, it involves your mother, and you need a woman to help?”

“Right. I… It’s hard to describe, but she’s in bad shape.”

“If she’s sick, why don’t you take her to St. Mungos?”

Draco scoffed. “As if. And no. She isn’t sick. She’s… lost. And she drinks. A lot.”

“She’ll come around.”

“She’s locked herself in the house and refuses to leave. I’m afraid she… I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“I believe you. I just don’t see how I can help. Your mother and I aren’t… we aren’t friends,” Hermione said. “And to be honest, I’m not sure I’m up for a visit to Malfoy manor.”

“No, no,” Draco rushed out. “She left the manor right after the war ended. Too many ghosts, she’d said. She’s at Black manor. Please, Hermione. I’ll owe you forever. Just stop by and talk to her.”

Hermione had never seen Draco in such a state, nor with such despair painting his features. “All right. I don’t know how I can help, or what’s really going on, but I’ll do it.” What was she getting herself into?

“Thank you! Thank you so much. Here’s the address.” He placed a piece of parchment on her desk. “Tonight?”

“Sure, why not?” Hermione said with a slight grimace. Not like she had any plans.

He smiled and left her office.

Hermione gazed around the room before checking her watch. Close to four. At least she didn’t have to wait that much longer, given that her nerves were suddenly going haywire. Narcissa Black belonged to a past Hermione had buried over the last couple of years; a past she refused to unearth _ever_ again. It had cost her to even get to this point. Yet, she’d just promised Draco she’d visit his mother tonight. What was she thinking?

***

Narcissa gazed unmoving at the flames crackling in the fireplace. When was the last time she’d left Black manor? She couldn’t even remember. Once the war was over, once Draco was safe, once Lucius was in Azkaban, and they spared her, once the wizarding community had moved on, she’d found herself stuck between two worlds. Rather than dealing with either, she’d locked herself in her childhood home, which she hated, but not as much as she abhorred Malfoy manor and all that had happened there during the war. She still heard the screams.

Narcissa took a sip of her drink, enjoying the burn of the fire whiskey. She wasn’t drunk, though well on her way. She knew she drank too much. She knew she was a coward, and she knew Draco was worried sick. The latter weighed the heaviest on her.

But she was trapped in this loop of fear and loathing, fear of the world, of her future, or better, the lack thereof, and fear of herself, for she felt she didn’t even know who she was. After running the cycle of fear, she slithered into loathing, toward her parents, toward her sisters, toward the entire world, but most of all, toward herself.

All her life, whenever she’d wanted something so badly it almost hurt, she wouldn’t just not get it, no, that might have been bearable. She’d destroy it. If not through her own actions, then by association. This led to a life that never dared to want, to desire. She had been scared when Draco was born because he had been the only exception. She’d wanted him, and as such, lived her life in terror that someone, or something, somehow would tear him away from her.

She’d almost lost him, and her husband had allowed it. She’d have divorced Lucius for that alone, no matter how relieved he’d been that Draco survived the insane attempts on Dumbledore’s life, and the final battle. The moment he disregarded the life of their son, the moment he cared more about serving that sniveling no-nose bastard than protecting their child, Narcissa decided she’d leave him. She’d had a multitude of reasons over the years to end their marriage, but those only related to her, and she’d been so used to disregarding her own happiness that she’d never have left him for her own good.

Something had to give. She was going insane; worried that the wave of madness that had washed over Bella would swallow her, too. There were moments when she felt she was close to touching that shore, but then her dragon would visit, and she’d cling to the light in his eyes, to the love that one person in the world held for her. If only she could stop. If only she could find a way out. But the mere notion of leaving the manor, of stepping foot into the outside world, filled her with sheer terror.

The doorbell rang. It wasn’t Tuesday, was it? That was the day Draco would visit, but he’d been here just a few days ago.

“Go away,” Narcissa croaked and slammed her fire whisky on the coffee table.

An elf showed up at her side. “Mistress Black, there’s a young woman at the door wanting to speak to you.”

She’d tried to fire her, or set her free, whatever. But she’d refused to leave.

“Send her away,” Narcissa said and closed her eyes.

The elf nodded and disappeared with a pop, only to reappear a minute later.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. She insists on talking to you. She said to tell you her name.”

“It won’t matter, but sure, tell me who’s so keen on seeing me.”

“Hermione Granger,” the elf squeaked.

Narcissa’s back straightened. What was _she_ doing here? Had she finally come to extract her revenge? How fitting.

“Let her in,” she whispered. Curiosity wrangled with despair, but Narcissa hated delays. She might as well get it over with.

***

Hermione marveled at both the cold and dark that draped the inside of Black manor while a house-elf led her through hallways, deeper into the property. Then she halted, and Hermione almost ran into her.

“Through here, Ms. Granger. Mistress is through here. Be kind to her,” she trilled and disappeared.

Hermione took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” a modulated voice rang out.

Hermione opened the door and stepped into the darkened living room. Fire blazed in the hearth, and she was relieved that this room at least wasn’t as cold as the rest of the manor seemed to be. Dark green, heavy curtains hung on tall windows and would have drowned out any light during the day. The hardwood floor beneath her squeaked when she stepped farther into the room.

“Madam Black,” she greeted Narcissa. One look at the other woman and she understood Draco’s worries. The ghostly pale woman in front of her didn’t look well. Gone was the impeccably dressed and coiffed women. Instead, her blonde, dull hair hung loosely around her face, with deep shadows cast under blue eyes, which usually gazed at their surroundings with utter disdain, now shone glassy, almost lifeless. Most worrisome was her frame, though. The blonde woman had always been slender, but now she looked frail, so thin a strong wind gust might topple her. Her hands trembled, grasping a glass with smoking liquid in it. Fire whiskey, Hermione assumed.

She stared at Hermione, still and in silence.

“May I sit down?” Hermione asked after a moment.

Narcissa shook her head. “Yes, of course.” She stepped back and sat down on the love seat closer to the fire, while Hermione chose the sofa chair across from her.

“Draco asked me to come here tonight,” Hermione said.

Narcissa startled. “He did? I didn’t know you were close.”

“We’re not, but we work together, and let’s say, we’ve buried the past.”

Narcissa fidgeted, pulling a lock of hair behind her ear before drinking a sip of her whiskey. “Do you… Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Hermione said.

“So you didn’t come here to… to kill me?” Narcissa voiced, after another moment of silence had passed between them.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “What? Ki… What… Why would I do that?”

“I didn’t help you. I wanted to, but…”

Hermione closed her eyes. She was _so_ not ready for that conversation. “Let’s not talk about that. Please.”

“Of course,” Narcissa said, and with shaking hands, placed her glass on the coffee table. “Why are you here, then?”

“I think maybe Draco thought you could use some company. He said you’ve not left the manor in a while.”

Narcissa tilted her head. “Why would he choose you, though?”

“You mean since I’m not a pureblood witch?” Hermione struggled to keep from snapping.

A frown marred Narcissa’s features. “No, because you hate me,” she said in a voice so soft and fragile, it shifted something inside Hermione. Tension she hadn’t been aware of eased, and she breathed lighter.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you.”

“Then again, why are you here?”

“I don’t know, but… maybe I can get to know you. We can get to know each other,” Hermione said, somewhat surprised at her own suggestion. That hadn’t been part of her plan, but sitting across from the blonde witch, who looked so forlorn and lonely, Hermione wanted to help. She felt the urge to ease the strain that was surrounding, almost suffocating the other woman.

Narcissa’s eyebrows raised. “That’s something you’d want?”

“Why not? We could meet here every Friday.”

“And do what?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “Talk? Play games. Do you like chess?”

“Chess?” Narcissa looked at her with an expression like the one she must have worn when encountering Hagrid’s three-headed dog, Fluffy.

“We don’t have to play chess. That was just a suggestion.”

“No, no. It’s fine. We can play chess next Friday,” Narcissa said.

“OK,” Hermione said and clasped her hands in her lap. “Same time, or shall I come by earlier?”

“That’s up to you. I have no plans,” Narcissa said, and a bottle of fire whiskey zoomed by, landing on the table in front of her.

Did Narcissa summon that silently, without a wand? Or was there some secret communication with her house-elf?

Narcissa poured more of the steaming liquid into her cup. “You’re sure you don’t want to join me?”

“I don’t drink alcohol,” Hermione said.

“Oh, well, you can have something else. I can ask Dottie to bring you—”

“No, no. It’s fine, really. Thank you. May I ask you a question?”

Narcissa nodded while swallowing a gulp of her drink.

“Why don’t you leave Black manor? What do you do all day?”

Narcissa stared at her. “Two.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those were two questions.”

Hermione held her gaze, remaining silent.

Narcissa sighed. “I do nothing. Waste my time,” she said with a dry chuckle. “I used to read and study a lot. But nothing holds my attention anymore. I can’t even brew potions because my hands shake too much,” she muttered.

“And why don’t you leave the manor?”

“Do you always go straight for the jugular, Ms. Granger? Don’t people getting to know each other usually start by asking more benign questions? Like what’s your favorite color? Or your favorite season? Food?”

“Why waste time like that? Isn’t it better to right away know what you’re up against?”

“Interesting word choice. Am I a project of yours? Are you trying to redeem me?”

Hermione canted her head. “Do you need redemption, Madam Black?”

A visible tremor ran through the blonde witch across from her, and Narcissa dipped her head, breaking their eye contact. “That’s usually for others to decide, isn’t it?” She finally breathed and raised her head.

Narcissa’s eyes held an expression so full of despair, Hermione felt all air flee her lungs. “I’m not sure. Sometimes others forgive us, and that’s still not enough to feel that we’re deserving of their forgiveness. On the other hand, how would you redeem someone who doesn’t believe in it?”

“Doesn’t believe redemption is possible?”

“That would be complicated, but not impossible. I meant a situation where someone doesn’t believe they _need_ redemption. Voldemort surely never thought so,” Hermione said, remembering what Harry had told her about his meeting with Dumbledore at King’s Cross, and the deformed creature on the floor beneath the bench.

“And you suppose I’m like him?” For the first time, something other than misery glowed in Narcissa’s eyes. Indignation.

“No. Do you?”

Narcissa chuckled.

***

Friday #1

The next Friday came too soon, while also taking too long. Depending on the day, Hermione would have argued one or the other. Draco had been pleased that she’d set up a schedule to meet with Narcissa. Personally, Hermione questioned her sanity. Still, she’d always had the urge to help people, and it was blatant that Narcissa needed help. And food.

Hermione hadn’t come up yet with an idea on how to bring up that topic. Maybe she didn’t have to? She could bring along food, arguing that she thought they might share a meal first? An exploration of Muggle takeout cuisine?

That was what had brought her to her favorite Thai place. She’d ordered her usual, and a blander dish for Narcissa, since she didn’t know if the other woman liked spicy food. Also, since it seemed that she hardly ate, Hermione didn’t want to bring something too heavy or greasy.

With a bag of takeout food in one hand, and a Muggle chess set in the messenger bag swung over her shoulder, she rang the doorbell of Black manor.

“Mistress is waiting in the living room, Ms. Granger,” Dottie chirped and ushered Hermione inside.

“Thank you, Dottie,” Hermione said and followed the house-elf.

Narcissa looked better, maybe because she was expecting company. Her hair was braided in a ponytail, and while her clothes, black lounging pants and a crème-colored blouse, still hung light on her frame, they seemed more aligned with the Narcissa Black she knew than the ensemble she’d worn the previous week.

“Ms. Granger,” she greeted her. “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

“I said I would,” Hermione said.

“That you did. What... What’s that?” Narcissa asked and pointed at the brown paper bag in Hermione’s grasp.

“Oh, I got us something to eat. I thought we could have dinner before playing chess.” She placed her messenger bag on the floor. “Is it OK if we sit on the couch to eat?”

“That’s fine. I already had dinner, though,” Narcissa said, watching Hermione while she unpacked the food and placed it on the coffee table.

“Liquids don’t count as dinner,” Hermione quipped, undeterred.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows, and a small smile played on her lips. “I wasn’t aware of such rules.”

“Now you are,” Hermione said and sat in the same seat as last Friday. “Come on. Sit down. Here,” she said and handed Narcissa a container.

“What exactly is that?” Narcissa asked, but accepted the food.

“It’s Thai food. Muggle takeout food, well, it’s regular food, but since I got it to go, it’s takeout, so I suppose you can still call it takeout food.”

“You’re babbling,” Narcissa said, still not opening the container.

“Sorry. I just...” Hermione sighed. “It’s a dish called Pad Thai, and I ordered it mild since I didn’t know if you like spicy food.”

“I do. Although... mild might be the better choice right now,” Narcissa said.

“Go on. Open the container. You can eat it right out of it. Or we can get plates, I’m fine either way. You can use the plastic fork or the chop sticks.”

Narcissa’s gaze followed Hermione’s movements as the dark-haired witch opened her own container and grabbed a pair of chop sticks.

“I’ll stick with the fork,” Narcissa said. “Are you eating the same dish?” She asked, inspecting her noodles.

“It’s a similar one, Pad Kee Mao. It’s a lot spicier and has chicken and shrimp along with vegetables. I didn’t know if you eat meat, so I ordered yours with just vegetables.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” Narcissa said, trying a bit of her food.

“So?”

“It’s... tasty,” Narcissa said after swallowing.

“No, I meant, do you eat meat?”

“I’m not a vegetarian, but I also don’t eat a lot of meat. I prefer fish.”

“I shall remember,” Hermione said, and they continued to eat their meal in a silence that was much more comfortable than Hermione had expected.

***

Narcissa had been sure Hermione wouldn’t join her tonight. Why would she? It had been a sweet idea of Draco, if somewhat unorthodox. Why would he ask Hermione Granger, of all people, to visit her? He’d only shrugged his shoulders when she’d asked before changing the topic. She didn’t want the other woman here, and she’d only agreed to it to please her son, or better, to ease his worries.

Still, she’d been preoccupied with this day approaching, and a restless energy had stayed with her all day. It felt odd to have energy again, and so she’d taken a bath and followed a long-forgotten routine to get ready. For what, though? To play chess? She’d paced the living room before the doorbell rang, then she’d sat down, trying to restore her unaffected air. Why did she care what that woman would think of her?

Then she was here. She brought food and even considered her dietary preferences. What a strange witch.

“I thought we could make it a theme tonight and play Muggle chess,” Hermione said.

Was she testing her? Narcissa was so tired of the strain between Muggleborn and pureblood witches and wizards. What did it mean in the end? One just had to look at the two wizarding wars. Not to mention, the Dark Lord himself was a Muggleborn. Of all the hypocrisy. “What’s the difference?” Narcissa asked.

“You move the pieces physically, and well, they won’t fight, or you know, destroy each other.”

“But the spells on wizarding chess rebuild them back to the same state they’re in when you start the game,” Narcissa said with a little frown.

“True, but it’s still... barbaric. And I thought maybe we play a version that involves less... dismemberment. But if you prefer the wizarding version, then—”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

“Where shall I set it up?”

Narcissa pointed toward a set of chairs and a small table in the room's corner. “Let’s move over there.” She rose and ambled over with Hermione right behind her.

***

“You’re cheating!” Hermione cried. She was the brightest witch of her age, or so people claimed, yet she had a habit of getting trounced in chess. Well, to be fair, that was only the case when she played Ron.

“I most certainly am not!” Narcissa’s outraged expression made Hermione laugh out loud.

“All right. I believe you,” she said and moved her rook and king.

Narcissa smirked. “You think castling will save you?”

“I’m not sure anything can save me here,” Hermione said. “But what counts is trying, right?” She caught Narcissa’s gaze and held it, hoping the blonde witch would pick up on her meaning, and given how her azure eyes narrowed, she assumed the message was received.

“Trying isn’t always as easy as it sounds,” Narcissa whispered before moving her bishop forward. “Check,” she said.

Hermione groaned. She was doomed. Only two moves later, Narcissa’s smile widened.

“Checkmate,” she said, with a grin and more light in her eyes than Hermione could remember seeing all evening.

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair. “You should play Ron. You could give him a run for his money.”

Narcissa tilted her head. “Why would I want Mr. Weasley’s money?”

Hermione laughed. “It’s just an expression. He’s fantastic at this game, and I’d say you’d be evenly matched.”

Narcissa raised one eyebrow. “No one has ever beaten me in chess. Though Draco came close one time when he was sixteen. He’s given up ever since.”

“Now you tell me,” Hermione said with a pout.

“Why would I reveal a strategic advantage?”

“True. Very Slytherin of you.”

“And yet we always seem to fall at the hands of Gryffindors,” Narcissa said, a faraway expression on her face.

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that, so she remained silent, her gaze steady, while Narcissa dipped her head, idly playing with a pawn in her hand.

“Is this who we are, Ms. Granger? Pawns in someone else’s game? Easily sacrificed and replaced.”

“I struggle to believe you’ve ever seen yourself as a pawn in life.”

Narcissa laughed, but her laugh contained no joy. “We’ve established that we don’t know each other, because if you did, you’d never make such a statement.”

Hermione held her gaze, hoping the blonde witch would continue, though her expression clarified that this was a challenging topic.

“You also need to learn the difference between appearances and reality.”

“What’s the difference? For you?”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “That is a... very forward question.”

“I apologize. I don’t mean to offend you,” Hermione said.

“It’s brash, and brave, quite befitting your House,” Narcissa said, and now Hermione saw a trace of amusement flicker in her eyes.

“That doesn’t sound like a compliment, at least not the way you say it.”

Narcissa waved her off. “Do you mind if I have a glass of wine? Do you want anything?”

“I’ll have some water,” Hermione said.

Narcissa rose and poured red wine for herself before adding water into a glass for Hermione.

“Here,” she said, and motioned for Hermione to follow her back to the couch.

Hermione accepted the water and sat down in the sofa chair.

“Maybe I’m jealous,” Narcissa said after taking a sip of her drink.

“Of what?” Hermione asked.

***

There was no way Narcissa would have been able to have this conversation sober. She’d almost followed her instinct and asked Hermione to leave, but something stopped her. How could she explain this to the dark-haired witch? Why would she?

The notion of them becoming friends was beyond ludicrous. She loved her son, but there were limits. Why should she bare herself in front of a stranger? A stranger with whom she shared such a fraught history, no less. She didn’t confide in people, not since she’d lost her sisters, and even that had been quite ill-advised.

“Your freedom,” Narcissa whispered and closed her eyes. Perhaps talking to a stranger had its advantages. Alternatively, Narcissa had lost her mind. She felt good about both options.

“Freedom in what way?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know your parents,” Narcissa started and filed away the younger witch’s flinch at her words. “And I’m not terribly familiar with Muggles,” she added, and this time, Hermione offered her a weak smile in response.

“You don’t say.”

“Hmm. How familiar are you with pureblood families? Their traditions, rules, and regulations?”

Hermione’s eyebrows scrunched up. “A bit more familiar than you are with Muggles, but that’s all coming from books, not personal experience or even the word of a friend. I doubt the Weasleys are the typical pureblood family you’re talking about.”

“No, they are not.”

“Sirius alluded to a few... issues.”

“I’m sure he did. His family disowned him because he was not acting the _right_ way.”

“Have _you_ always acted the right way?”

Narcissa stared at her. Was she serious? “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Directness has its advantages,” Hermione said.

“Why would I confide in you?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “You don’t have to, but isn’t that part of getting to know each other? Of establishing a friendship? Intimacy only works if it’s reciprocated.”

“Are we doing that? Establishing a friendship?”

“We might as well.”

“All right. But in honoring your proposal, you’ll have to share something as well,” Narcissa said.

“OK,” Hermione said. “What do you want to know?”

“What happened to your parents?” Narcissa asked, regretting her question when all color drained from Hermione’s face and the hand holding the glass trembled and paled, her knuckles standing out. “Forget it,” she said. “I’ll think of something else.”

Hermione didn’t react for a long moment, just stared straight ahead, then placed her glass on the coffee table. “I’d erased their memories to protect them from Voldemort. They’d moved to Australia and… I found them, but… I cannot restore their memories. I’ve tried everything, but nothing works. I’ve lost them,” she muttered.

Narcissa closed her eyes and pressed her tongue against her teeth to keep from snapping at the younger woman. Thankfully, she wasn’t as drunk as she desired to be, and so she could hold back or simmer down her outrage over what Hermione had just said.

When she opened her eyes, the sorrowful and hopeless expression on Hermione’s face made her ache in a way she thought she’d lost a long time ago. Compassion filled her, and she was too tired to stop herself from reaching out and hesitantly, she grasped Hermione’s hand and squeezed it before letting go. “I’m sorry,” Narcissa said.

Hermione wiped her eyes. “Not your fault,” she mumbled and cleared her throat.

“Yes. I’ve always acted the right way, at least according to whatever I thought that was, yet the end results were never what I’d hoped for,” Narcissa said.

“I’m sorry, too.” Hermione said, and her sincere expression warmed Narcissa.

“Thank you.”


	2. Easier to Run

Friday #2

Narcissa had wanted to cancel and almost did. She didn’t need the company. She’d been fine on her own. Merlin, she abhorred lying to herself. But she wouldn’t go there. She refused to consider this even a fledgling friendship because the mere thought of such a dynamic would inevitably careen them down the path of her life that ended in pain, loss, and misery. While Narcissa had adapted to this, why plague the dark-haired witch with her fate?

In the past, people had often called her cold and cruel, and this misnomer had suited Narcissa just fine. It had dissuaded people from turning their claws in her direction. Appearances and reality. Maybe she could continue this and keep everything between them in the realm of appearances? Sometimes Narcissa wished she were a fool. It would make lying to herself a breeze.

And here she was again. Hermione, with a bright smile on her face and another paper bag full of Muggle food, while her messenger bag contained Merlin knew what. If she had access to such information, she’d have researched Muggle games. But she’d have to leave the manor for that, and it therefore remained an impossible task.

She’d stopped drinking for two days, but then her headaches became too severe, and her hands trembled to where she struggled to retain food on her spoon. This might become a problem.

“Did you have a good week?” Hermione asked, dropping her bag on the floor after placing the food on the table.

“The same as ever,” Narcissa said. “How about you?”

“So, so,” Hermione said without elaborating further.

“What food did you bring this time?”

“Italian. I hope you like it,” she said and unpacked the food, once again holding out a hot container for Narcissa. “It’s spicier today. Oh, wait, you said you like fish, but do you also like other seafood or just fish?”

“If it’s in the ocean, I’ll eat it,” Narcissa said and sniffed her container.

“It’s called Seafood Arrabbiata. I think it means angry seafood,” Hermione said with a little frown. “There are shrimp, clams, and mussels in it. And it’s spicy.”

“Hmm, I’ve had something similar before,” Narcissa said.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes. Stop worrying,” Narcissa said with a small smile. “Thank you.”

Hermione ducked her head. “You’re welcome.”

They ate, and this time, Narcissa had put out glasses with water for both.

After dinner, Narcissa leaned back against the loveseat and regarded Hermione who was returning the empty containers to the bag she’d brought them in.

“What game did you bring? Or do you want a rematch?”

Hermione laughed. “No, thanks. I don’t want to get slaughtered in chess again. I’ve brought Draughts. Do you know how to play it?” She stuck one hand in her bag and placed the game on the table. “Wanna play here?”

“Sure. I’ve heard of it but never played it.”

“Oh, OK. Let’s see. It’s funny actually, because outside of the English-speaking world, they call this game Dame, and the figures are queens, not kings like in our version.”

“Interesting,” Narcissa said, picking up the black and white pieces.

“When you reach the row the furthest away from you, like, the one where your opponent starts out, your piece is crowned. You add another piece on top of it.”

“Do they call that queening in the non-English version?” Narcissa asked, holding back a smirk.

Hermione, who had been drinking a sip of water coughed violently, slammed down her glass, while her other hand flew to her chest. “That...” she wheezed, “was evil. And no. I’m sure that’s _not_ what they call it,” Hermione said, and her eyes danced with mirth.

Narcissa decided she quite liked the sight.

***

Hermione couldn’t believe Narcissa Black of all people had just made such a joke. She was too surprised to turn crimson, so at least there was an upside to almost choking to death.

She had almost canceled, but then she remembered the blonde witch’s greeting last Friday, how she’d been sure Hermione wouldn’t show up. She didn’t want to prove her right. Also, she’d said she’d be back the following Friday, same time and all, and Hermione kept her promises.

Her week had been dreadful. Their last conversation about her parents had unleashed nightmares she’d wished she’d left behind. Before Draco sprung his mother upon her, she’d lived an orderly, compartmentalized life. She’d followed her routines and focused on her job, her studies, and her meetings with Harry and Ron. Anything else would tumble the house of cards she’d built, and then the demons would creep back in, drowning her world once more in a darkness of her own creation.

That’s why Hermione had wanted to cancel. While these meetings occurred at the same time and day of the week and therefore could be considered a mere addition to her routines, the content, and the person with whom she had these meetings, sledgehammered such assumptions.

Narcissa reminded her of a past she wanted to forget, bury it so deep she’d never have to face it. She also tied her to a future she’d imagined but destroyed. Since the war ended, since her failure to fix her parents, Hermione had lived stuck in the present because if she stayed there and kept her entire focus on what was in front of her, she’d never have to move forward, and without looking back, there’d also be no past. She was free, as free as she could be. Caged, really, but in a trap of her own making. A trap that kept her sane.

At least it did until Draco decided she should meddle in his mother’s affairs. It forced her to look back and turn her gaze to the future. If Narcissa had been fine, she’d have left it with that first meeting. But any blind person could have seen that Narcissa was so far removed from her normal self, she’d might as well be taking a stroll on Mars.

No matter the past they’d shared, and the actions or inactions they’d taken, she was loathed to walk away and leave Narcissa in such a state. Sometimes company was all a person needed to get back on their feet. It would have been selfish to withdraw just because Hermione refused to deal with her own issues. Yet, denial was appealing, and sometimes, it was like a drug, and a small part of her resented Narcissa for forcing her out of her self-imposed isolation.

“Are you still with me? It’s your turn,” Narcissa said.

Hermione shook her head. “Sorry. Spaced out,” she said and jumped two of Narcissa’s pieces.

“I was hoping you’d do that,” Narcissa said with glee and jumped enough of Hermione’s disks to crown her own.

Hermione groaned. “I thought you’d never played this.”

“I haven’t, but it’s a strategy game,” Narcissa replied.

Hermione frowned. As if that explained anything. She moved another piece.

“You should have used that time you spaced out, as you’ve put it, to contemplate a more efficient move, or avoid falling for all my traps. It’s almost like you are looking for them,” Narcissa said with a self-satisfied smirk that Hermione, sadly, didn’t consider unappealing at all. Then, another move, and Hermione lost. Again.

“I need to bring different games. Scrabble? No. Battleships? No, that’s just pure luck. Cards. We should play different card games next.”

Narcissa’s face contorted into a mask of disdain. “Like Exploding Snap?”

Hermione snorted. “Please. Give me more credit. There are lots of brilliant Muggle card games to choose from.”

“That puts you at a distinct advantage. I won’t know anything about these games until you bring them next Friday and explain the rules,” Narcissa said.

Hermione hid her amusement at Narcissa’s scandalized expression. “Not knowing Draughts didn’t stop you from winning. How about this, I’ll owl you a set of cards along with instructions for each of the card games we could play? You choose one out of these, and we’ll play it next Friday.”

“That sounds... acceptable,” Narcissa sniffed.

“Good.”

“Now what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want a rematch?”

“No, that’ll just result in another beating,” Hermione said. “How about we settle down and chat for a bit? Unless you’re too tired. I can leave and—”

“No! I... I wouldn’t be averse to talking. We could have some dessert? I believe Dottie baked chocolate chip cookies earlier today. Let me get a few,” Narcissa said and rose.

“That sounds great.” Hermione watched Narcissa’s retreating back, unable to dim the warmth that spread through her at the other witch’s desire for her to stay longer.

***

“What is it you do exactly at the ministry?” Narcissa asked.

“I’m a liaison between the wizarding world and all other magical creatures. I’m advocating for their rights and equality.”

“Hmm,” Narcissa said. “That suits you.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, her face scrunched up. “How do you figure?”

“Draco may have been quite vocal about you during your time at Hogwarts. He always talked about your efforts to bring the dregs of society into our respectable folds, so to speak,” Narcissa said.

Hermione dropped a cookie back on the plate and sat up straight. Her eyes narrowed. “The dregs of society? Is that what you think? Wizards and witches have been abusing and oppressing other magical creatures for centuries! Using them for their own benefits, exploiting them, without _ever_ even contemplating giving them a seat at the table!”

Narcissa cocked her head, unsure what to do with the fire in Hermione’s eyes and her body’s reaction to the display in front of her. “My son has changed. This is what he wrote home during fourth and fifth year. You were children, and everything has changed since then,” Narcissa finally found her voice, still distracted by Hermione’s heaving chest, and balled fists.

“What about you?” Hermione croaked after another moment had passed in stillness.

Narcissa held Hermione’s gaze. Was this the moment where this would crash down, too? “Does that matter?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, not dropping her gaze.

Narcissa sighed. “We’ve talked about appearances and reality before.”

“We didn’t. You mentioned it last time but didn’t elaborate.”

Narcissa leaned back on the couch but resisted the urge to shrink into herself, though she regretted foregoing wine for tonight. Fire whiskey would have been even better. “If you show any weakness, others will use it against you in a conflict. Do you agree with that?”

“I suppose. As far as it’s an exploitable weakness.”

“We were raised differently, apart from the Muggle/Witch dynamic. My family,” Narcissa said and pursed her lips. “You’ve been to Grimmauld place, and met Walburga, or her portrait?”

“She’s an utter delight,” Hermione said and Narcissa had to laugh despite the tension that ran rampant.

“My mother is worse.”

Hermione blanched.

“My father was... absent. Locked away in his study while my mother... She reigned over the house. In my family, the reality didn’t matter as much as the outside, as appearances did.”

“As long as the façade looks pretty, the inside can rot?”

“Yes, and it did rot,” Narcissa said and cleared her throat. She couldn’t do this. She jumped off the couch, heedless to startling Hermione, Narcissa dashed to a cupboard and poured herself a liberal amount of fire whiskey. Her hands shook when she lifted the glass to her lips and swallowed the first sip. She closed her eyes, trying to catch her bearings again. A light touch to her elbow almost made her drop her glass.

“Hey. Are you OK?”

Narcissa hadn’t noticed Hermione rising and joining her.

“I don’t... you don’t have to talk about this. I don’t want to upset you.”

Narcissa offered a strained smile. “Thank you, dear,” she said and patted Hermione’s hand. “Let’s go back to the couch.” They sat back down and Narcissa contemplated her next words. She might as well get it out because if this ended this... charade, whatever it was, the quicker the better. “My parents hated Muggles, but they abhorred Muggleborns,” she said in a low voice, unable to look at Hermione.

When there was no reaction, Narcissa raised her head and found Hermione watching her evenly, with no pain or anger reflecting from those dark, expressive eyes. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Is that supposed to be news to me?” Hermione asked.

Narcissa huffed, taking another sip of her whiskey. “For them, the reality and the appearance matched, at least with this. Wizarding kind was the pinnacle of the world. The most valiant and deserving kind of any beings, with the natural right to be in charge, and to... to suppress others, if necessary. The crème rises to the top,” Narcissa said with a mocking little laugh.

“That sounds a bit like white supremacy,” Hermione said. “And yes, that’s exactly the attitude my office is working against. Though the second war against Voldemort has made people more receptive to our message.”

“White supremacy?” Narcissa asked. She needed to get Dottie to go to one of those Muggle libraries and get books on Muggle history if she wanted to keep up with Hermione. They did have those, right? Should she ask Hermione about that?

“The belief that white people are superior to any other ethnicities and races. Mind you, there’s only one human race, and the rest is melanin adaptation to the sun,” Hermione scoffed.

“That’s barbaric. They judge people based on their skin color?”

Hermione stared at her and raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

“Oh, right. I suppose you’re right. It’s similar, in a way. But in our world, we are not talking about just humans. There are other creatures, and some of them are dangerous.”

Hermione grumbled. “A lot of that is stereotyping and propaganda.”

“Yet you were afraid of Fenrir Greyback,” Narcissa said.

Hermione flinched. “That was different. He’s a sadist. A completely deranged human being. The wolf didn’t make him that way. Look at Remus Lupin. He wasn’t like that!”

“There are always exceptions, but generally, werewolves are dangerous.”

“They can be, but with the right potions and education, we can manage their disease and they could live normal lives. There’s just been no efforts or money into such research.”

“Why spend money when it’s easier to shun them and lock them away?”

Hermione closed her eyes. “Are you testing me? Is that your way of trying to make me leave?”

“Excuse me?”

“You say these horrible things and then... I want to lash out at you, but I also don’t,” Hermione grumbled. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, but this isn’t easy, and it... Perhaps we should quit before things get too complicated.”

“Complicated how? We met three times, and you really can only count the last two since the first one was... whatever. Doesn’t count.”

“There you go. No harm done in ending this now. We are too different for this ever to work.”

“Right,” Hermione said but didn’t move, neither did Narcissa who nursed her whiskey and shot furtive glances at the dark-haired witch.

Narcissa wasn’t sure how much time had passed in silence, and she was about to open her mouth and claim she was tired when Hermione’s gaze froze her to the seat.

“That’s the problem with all of you. You give up as soon as you encounter problems. Traditions! It’s always been that way, so why change it? Why, if humans ever listened to that impulse, where would we be? Humans probably wouldn’t have learned how to make fire because, well, it’s always been dark at night, so why change that?”

Narcissa’s eyebrows shot up.

“Purebloods have this belief that they are better than the rest, but first, there’s hardly any family that has never seen the influx of non-magical blood or Muggleborns. Besides, if you go by that, you all end up marrying your cousins, and that has never had a happy ending. Maybe we should make Muggle history a mandatory subject at Hogwarts. The current Muggle Studies class is a joke. I should talk to Minerva about that.”

Narcissa supposed that this meant that Muggle history accounts and libraries existed. She’d sent Dottie out in the morning.

***

Hermione was sure she’d never met a person more maddening than Narcissa Black.

“Go on,” Narcissa said.

Having the blonde witch’s full attention on her felt strange, in ways Hermione wasn’t inclined to contemplate just yet. “Well, yes, there is a difference between human beings and other magical creatures. I’d give you that vampires might be a problem,” she said.

“How kind of you,” Narcissa said and Hermione liked the amusement that lit up Narcissa’s eyes at her words.

“That’s my middle name. Actually, it’s Jean, but you know what I mean.” Why was she babbling?

“Yes, Ms. Granger. Continue.”

“I just... Even if the magical community isn’t prejudiced based on the color of a person’s skin, they have their preconceived notions about humans based on their abilities and heritage. Our community looks down on Squibbs and they bring shame to their family. Marrying a Muggle or a Muggleborn is a problem for many pureblood families.”

“True,” Narcissa said.

“Not to mention, we don’t honor or appreciate the magic of house-elves or goblins. We use it, them, and they get nothing in return. Never mind, their brands of magic are powerful, and in a true partnership, just imagine what we could all accomplish.”

“The wizarding world was always more concerned with obtaining and maintaining power, so the idea of sharing any with what they have viewed as inferior beings likely didn’t even cross people’s minds.”

“It should have, though. And now it’s here, and it’s not going away,” Hermione said and jutted her chin.

“I don’t doubt it, dear.”

“Did you raise Draco like that?”

“Like what?”

“The appearance versus reality bit because… well, he used to be big on appearance.”

“Some habits are harder to break than others,” Narcissa said, once more drinking from her glass.

“But you seem to have hated it. Why did you do the same to Draco?”

Narcissa’s eyes flashed and Hermione almost winced. Was that a step too far?

“It is difficult to explain, especially to someone so unfamiliar with the inner workings of pureblood traditions and thinking.”

“Try,” Hermione said.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow but seemed more amused than affronted. “There’s no change. No progress. In fact, no one questions anything, often, there’s not even doubt. Being different is not encouraged, worse, it’s punished.” She sighed. “When I married Lucius, I’d married into another old, traditional pureblood family, which meant that all our friends and associates shared our background, and so did their children. Raising Draco differently would have made him an outcast among his peers.”

“You could have given him both, made him aware of pureblood tradition and taught him to be… not such a git. No offense, but he was terribly arrogant and… unpleasant at school.”

“My son is a good man, though I’ll admit he was… challenging from your perspective at school.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Hermione muttered, figuring that Narcissa not tearing her head off for calling Draco a git, and agreeing to him being challenging might be the most she could hope for concerning this topic.

“Also, given all you said, and your points are quite accurate, being raised according to pureblood traditions _and_ believing in… equality for all magical beings is incompatible.”

“You got a point. However, that also opens us up to a dilemma,” Hermione said.

“And what would that be?”

“Why did Draco pick _me_ , of all people, to seek you out, and why did _you_ accept?”

“My son wouldn’t say, and as for me accepting your company… I’m not sure, but you’re laboring on a faulty premise.”

“Oh?”

“You’re assuming that I’m who my parents raised me to be, that I also subscribe to those pureblood beliefs and assumptions.”

“You don’t?”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes.


	3. Bridges

Friday #3

Hermione had been true to her word and had sent Narcissa several sets of Muggle cards along with scrolls that explained the potential games. Dottie had also procured the books on Muggle history for her, along with a paperback on card games. The pictures in the books didn’t move, even when Narcissa had prodded them with her wand. She’d even contemplated an animation spell, but then she’d remembered that Frankenstein monster Hermione had told her about, and so she decided against such an attempt.

Since sending the cards, they’d been exchanging letters most days, sometimes just small notes, but often longer ones, discussing differing topics, and most recently, Hermione had started to talk about novels written by Muggles. Narcissa still speculated, at times, that this was a test, to see if she will engage in Muggle culture, and aside from a fierce competitive spirit, Narcissa was genuinely interested in learning more about Muggles.

Hermione had promised to bring several novels for her to read today, along with whatever food she’d pick out for dinner. She’d asked Narcissa for her preference, but the blonde witch had replied that she’d leave that up to Hermione. She wasn’t a picky eater, and while she often forgot to eat or substituted a meal with a drink, that had improved some this week. She ate more, much to Dottie’s delight.

She’d been back in her potions lab, but the work was still difficult, and too often she needed some form of alcohol to steady her nerves. She’d been eying detox potions, but that also meant she’d have to quit drinking alcohol and she doubted she could cope, but even contemplating such potions was an improvement, and Narcissa needed all the progress she could get.

They ate their dinner, Vietnamese cuisine tonight, and settled down on their usual gaming table.

“What game did you choose?” Hermione asked, placing several decks of cards on the table.

“Poker,” Narcissa replied without hesitation.

Hermione laughed. “Shocking.”

“How’s that?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “It fits.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” Narcissa said.

“It’s not an insult.”

“But it’s also not a compliment.”

“That depends. We shall see.” Hermione shuffled the cards. “How about we start with the basic version where you draw cards?”

“All right.”

“You read the rules?”

“Obviously.”

“Good to know you follow instructions,” Hermione said with a sparkle in her eyes.

Heat rose up Narcissa’s neck and she willed herself to relax. She wouldn’t blush. “Deal the cards,” she said.

“Impatient, huh?”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. Hermione seemed to be in a playful mood tonight.

“What’s the wager?”

“I don’t want to play for money,” Narcissa said.

“I wasn’t going to suggest money.”

“I’m not taking off my clothes!” This time, she failed to suppress the crimson flooding her cheeks.

Hermione laughed. “I see you’ve really done your research, Madam Black. And no, I wasn’t thinking of that either.”

Narcissa couldn’t tell if the emotion rising in her spoke of relief or disappointment.

“How about a secret? Nothing major, but something meaningful to us that the other doesn’t know?”

Narcissa contemplated the suggestion for a moment before nodding. “All right. The loser pays in secrets.”

Hermione furrowed her brows and stopped shuffling. “You’re up to something.”

“Excuse me?”

“You agreed too quickly, and you’re a Slytherin. I expected more resistance.”

Narcissa sat up straighter. “Why would you suggest something that you believed I’d reject in the first place, and Slytherin or not, have you considered perhaps I trust you won’t use anything you learn against me?”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to flush, Narcissa noticed with great satisfaction. “Of course. I apologize.”

Narcissa waved her off. “Deal the cards, Ms. Granger.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione said with a smirk that made Narcissa regret asking Dottie to add extra wood to the fire earlier.

Hermione finished dealing the cards before picking up her own set.

Narcissa had to hold back a groan when she inspected her hand. They were awful. However, she’d read about the importance of a so-called poker face, so she schooled her features, even though she had no matching cards. Hermione’s inscrutable facial expression set her on edge. This must have been how the younger witch had faired during the last two Fridays when she realized she was doomed. Still. There was hope. This was only the first hand.

“How many cards?” Hermione asked.

“Three,” Narcissa said, discarding her lowest cards and accepting the new ones. She supposed going from nothing to a pair of eights was an improvement, though she’d still lose.

“Since we are not playing for money, we cannot raise each other and make bets. How about we just show our hands after the first exchange?”

“But you didn’t exchange any cards!”

“Indeed,” Hermione said.

Narcissa groaned. “Fine. Here. Two eights.”

Hermione smiled and placed a full house on the table.

Narcissa grumbled.

“Your secret to share,” Hermione said.

“I don’t like this game.”

“You don’t enjoy losing.”

“Who does?” Narcissa asked.

“Fair point, however, I get enough enjoyment out of the game alone that I don’t mind losing that much. But stop stalling and tell me your secret.”

Narcissa held her gaze, her mind spinning, skimming through information worth sharing that wasn’t too compromising. She trusted the dark-haired witch, still this was only the first round. “I’m terrified of heights,” she finally muttered.

“That must have made flying instructions fun,” Hermione said.

“You have no idea. Now give me the cards.”

Hermione handed the deck to Narcissa who right away started shuffling.

Narcissa lost the next round as well. She’d been happy with two pairs, tens and Jacks, however, Hermione beat her with a three of a kind.

“So?” Hermione said and folded her hands on the table.

Narcissa sighed. Hermione looked way too pleased with herself. She should have picked Phase 10. Another secret. “Draco almost died when he was three. He... spiked a fever that nothing could touch. He had a rash all over his body, swollen lymph nodes, and his tongue looked like a strawberry.”

Hermione’s face fell. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s not the secret.”

“OK.”

“The medi-witches couldn’t explain what happened and...” Narcissa didn’t understand why she’d share this story. Merlin, Draco didn’t know about this, and neither did Lucius. Only her sister, Andromeda. She hadn’t known what else to do or who to talk to, and with Lucius gone for the week, she’d finally appeared on her sister’s doorstep with her bawling boy in her arms. They didn’t talk about the past or a potential future, and in fact, nothing came of it. At least not where their relationship was concerned.

“I’d sought help from my sister, Andromeda, and... her husband, Ted. He took us to the hospital where they treated Draco for Kawasaki disease.”

“Oh, wow.”

“You must think me hypocritical.”

“I don’t, but you seem to believe that about yourself.”

Narcissa leaned back in her chair. “I’d do anything to protect my son.”

“I know, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Most people would do anything to save their child. Why do you... Why are you upset about it?”

“I’m not upset about getting help for Draco. It didn’t matter that it was Muggles who saved him, the very people my family had taught me to consider beneath us all my life. I was just so grateful, also to Andy and Ted, but...” She pressed her lips together.

Hermione held her gaze.

“Nothing changed, afterward. They took us in, drove us to the hospital and stayed. Andy and Ted, they... They stayed with me the entire time.” Narcissa cleared her throat and blinked away moisture. “Yet when it was all over, and when Lucius was back, and my parents. My mother,” she said and released a pained chuckle. “I withdrew, and I’ve... I never replied to any of my sister’s letters. Eventually, she stopped writing.” Narcissa toyed with the cards on the table. “What does that make me?”

“A desperate mother trying to save her child, but still too afraid to go against her upbringing or tradition where her own happiness is concerned?”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “Draco is part of my happiness.”

“That’s different, and not what I meant. Of course, he is a source of your happiness, but there’s still a difference between going to Andromeda because your son needs help, and reconnecting with your sister for yourself, against the wishes of everyone else in your life. That would have been just for you.”

Narcissa lowered her head. “Your turn,” she said and pushed the cards in Hermione’s direction.

***

“You want to lose another round?” Hermione asked with a small smile.

“Your luck is going to run out, eventually. Besides, I don’t have to worry about a lack in secrets.”

Hermione halted, unsure what to say, and confused by the anticipation that filled her at Narcissa’s words.

As if Narcissa had placed a hex on her, she lost the next round, two pairs to a full house. Narcissa’s smug smile shouldn’t be appealing.

“All right, Ms. Granger. Your turn,” she said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She’d already selected the secret she’d tell when they’d started the first round, now though, she wondered if it was lame. “I knew what school, then university I’d be going to before my Hogwarts letter came. I wanted to study literature and become a teacher.”

“You could still be a teacher.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not sure I’d still want that. Anyway. Once Hogwarts happened, I felt I was missing out on the education in the Muggle world, at least, the parts I really wanted to learn. So, each summer, I’d sign up for literature classes with our local library. I’d read a curriculum of classic and modern literature and discuss them. I even wrote a few essays on them,” Hermione said and fought off a blush.

“How is this a secret?”

“Because no one but you knows about it. My parents didn’t... They felt I was taking on too much and should spend the summer relaxing, and toward the end, prepare for my Hogwarts classes.”

“A wise suggestion,” Narcissa said.

“Maybe, and yes, it was a lot of extra work but is it really work if you enjoy what you’re doing? I knew though that people wouldn’t understand, and my friends were already exasperated with my... desire for knowledge, my love for reading, that I didn’t want to add to it.”

“Is that where you read the Frankenstein book?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes. Among others.”

“Do... Do you think you could lend me some books you read during that time? We could discuss them if you wanted.”

“I’d love to,” Hermione said and smiled, ignoring the accelerated drumming in her chest.

“There’s something I wanted to discuss with you, but... you might not be open to it, and that is fine, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t...” Narcissa pushed a strand of hair behind her ears.

Hermione’s mood shifted, and anxiety crawled up her spine at Narcissa’s visible nerves. She couldn’t mean the drawing room, could she? Hermione wasn’t ready for that, in fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be. Though, she supposed that this couldn’t stand between them forever, or maybe it was just on her own mind?

“Hermione, dear? Are you all right?”

Hermione shook her head. “Yes, of course. Why?”

“You did that thing again, spaced out? I called your name several times, but you didn’t react.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You were saying? Go ahead.”

“Right. I’m adept at potions, or I used to be. I’ve been contemplating getting my master in potions but... that’s a story for another day. I did some research, and while I’m not fully there yet. My hands...,” she said and frowned at her hands folded in her lap. “I’m getting there, though, and maybe in a couple of weeks I could, if you don’t mind, that is—”

“Why are you so nervous? You’re freaking me out a bit.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’ve been researching memory potions, and I’m relatively confident that there’s a good chance to, if not cure your parents, to help them? If you wish for me to try, that is.”

Hermione opened her mouth but there were no words. Her mind had crashed to a total standstill while her heart smashed against her ribcage. For a second, she was convinced that Narcissa could hear the percussion in her chest, given how her eyes widened suddenly and her hands fidgeted.

“It’s all right, dear. I understand that you’re not comfortable with me—”

“No!” Hermione found her voice and reached out to grasp Narcissa’s hands. “I just... There are no words. I didn’t... I thought of Snape, surely he could’ve helped, but he’s dead, and Slughorn.” She sighed. “There’s always a price, and I wasn’t ready yet. I’d have gotten there, but...” Her shoulders dropped. “I am selfish, I suppose, or maybe just scared.”

“You’re not selfish. Asking for a favor from Horace is... costly, especially if you were doing the asking given your standing in our society. As for fear...” Narcissa sighed. “That’s a natural reaction, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. They are not hurting, you know? They are happy. Without me. And if... if it goes wrong then... I couldn’t bear to injure them just because I...” How could she explain what this had done to her? She had no other family, no siblings, no cousins or aunts and uncles. Her parents were both only children, and her grandparents had died when she was a child. Sure, she had Ron and Harry, and the Weasleys, and she’d forever be grateful that they’d embraced her as one of their own, even when there was nothing romantic between her and Ron.

Losing her parents... She didn’t regret what she’d done, and if she had to make the same choice, knowing what she knew now, she’d do it in a heartbeat. She couldn’t have risked Voldemort finding them and... Her vision blurred. She wouldn’t go there. She’d only experienced a touch, a moment of what torture would have awaited them, and what that mad woman had done to her... It had almost broken her. If Andy hadn’t…

Even if they didn’t remember Hermione, at least she knew they were safe. Still, their loss had cut her from life, or at least that’s how it felt like. To now have Narcissa offer to help, to search for a way to fix her parents memories...

“Perhaps you’ll think about it some more. You don’t have to answer me now. It’s a lot, and—”

“No, no. I’m sorry,” Hermione croaked and wiped her eyes. “I’m just overwhelmed.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t even want to come here, when Draco first asked,” she hurried to add when Narcissa’s face fell. “And I did not know what to expect, but I’ve genuinely come to enjoy our meetings. I look forward to them,” she said and dipped her head.

“I enjoy them as well,” Narcissa said.

“That’s good. I just... I expected nothing from you, or out of this. This isn’t why I show up or anything, and—”

“I know that. That didn’t even cross my mind. Spending time together, our conversations, both on these nights and in writing. The books, the studies... They...” Narcissa licked her lips. “This might sound dramatic, but I feel like I have a purpose again, as if my life isn’t just this endless barren, soulless tunnel without joy, without life. And I want to thank you for that.”

“You don’t have to do that. I did nothing special.”

“We can disagree on that, but I’d truly love to help your parents. There’s no ulterior motive, and I’d share everything I’ll do with you, so you don’t have to worry about—”

“Narcissa,” Hermione said and once more grasped the blonde witch’s hands. “I trust you. Our past,” she said and sighed. “We will have to discuss that at some point, not right now, but I have no doubts about you, about your motivations, or about your desire to help my parents. Maybe we can work on it together?”

Narcissa squeezed her hands. “That would be lovely. I can duplicate my research for you and owl it tomorrow. You can study it, and we can discuss it in our letters, and then we’ll see how we’ll move forward.”

Hermione nodded. Her voice once more on the run, at least the version that wasn’t soaked in tears.   
  



	4. Backlash

Friday #4

Narcissa had worked diligently on the potion, or at least she’d tried to do so. Their letter exchanges had inspired her to try a new base as a solution, and things looked promising, or they did until the headaches and tremors started. She hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since Hermione’s last visit, and her body wasn’t happy. At first, she’d used a restorative potion to get her through the days, but even that wasn’t cutting it anymore.

She hardly slept, waking up in a cold sweat, drenched to the bone with her sheets soaked through. More often than not, she’d rush to the bathroom and vomit. Then she’d sit, shaking, on the cold tile floor of her bathroom with tears streaming down her face. For hours. Dottie would eventually find her and levitate her back to her freshly made bed.

Narcissa refused to reach out to Andromeda, not because she doubted her competence, for her sister was a talented medi-witch. She felt like she didn’t deserve her help. She deserved nothing but the agony and misery that had befallen her since her abject failures. Since her inadequacy at protecting her son, her impotence at standing up for herself, and her helplessness in the face of her sister, her inability to stop Bellatrix from… How Hermione could even _bear_ the sight of her mystified Narcissa.

It had been more likely that she’d come to Black manor to kill her that first night. Though now, after getting to know the brilliant, kind, and funny young witch, Narcissa knew that murder would never have been on Hermione’s mind.

She didn’t deserve the dark-haired witch’s friendship, yet she desired it in a way she couldn’t remember ever wanting something, aside from her son. And that scared her almost more than her body’s apparent breakdown.

She’d been meaning to cancel tonight’s meeting. Narcissa first thought she could fake it through the evening with her restorative potion, but when that became ineffective early in the morning, she realized that there was no chance she could fool Hermione and hide her dilemma. However, doing something about that conundrum would have required her to get up and send an owl.

Dottie had brought food to her bedroom, but each time, Narcissa had been too out of it to demand the elf cancel the meeting on her behalf.

This was how she was now faced with the prospect of Hermione storming into her bedroom once Dottie let her in and told her about her mistress’s _issues_. Not the way she’d dreamed of Hermione entering her bedroom.

Just when that thought crossed her mind, and when she felt too weak to chastise herself for indulging in such a hopeless fantasy, the door swung open and Hermione rushed to her side.

“Narcissa! What happened? Are you OK! Of course you’re not OK. We need to get you to St. Mungos and—”

“No!” Narcissa pressed out, panting, still curled up in anguish on the bed, shivering jerks ransacking her body while nausea danced in her throat.

“You’re sick!”

_How astute_ , Narcissa wanted to reply, but she was afraid she’d throw up the moment she’d open her mouth.

“Mistress said we’re not allowed to take her to the hospital.”

“Fine. Show me her potions, please, then come back to her and watch over her. If she loses consciousness, apparate her to St. Mungos,” Hermione said and glared at Narcissa, as if daring her to object.

She’d have disagreed if it were safe to talk. Well, she’d inform the dark-haired witch of her audacity once she was better. She sure would. Narcissa was in the room, after all, but Merlin’s beard, she’d be sorted into Gryffindor before she’d allow her body to pass out.

***

Hermione rushed into Narcissa’s potions lab and rejected vial after vial until she came across the one she’d hoped for: a potion against withdrawal symptoms. Why didn’t Narcissa take that, though? Was there something wrong with it?

Worry for the blonde witch urged her forward, and she hurried back to the bedroom, while the idle thought of, ‘ _oh Merlin help me. I’m in Narcissa’s bedroom_ ,’ flickered across her awareness only to be slapped down. There was no time for such hopeless nonsense. She was here to help her friend, not bemoan the reason for finding herself in Narcissa’s bedroom.

“Here,” Hermione said, uncorking the vial. “This should help. It’s your potion against withdrawal. Why didn’t you take it before?”

“It... makes things... w...worse if...”

“If you drink again. Right. Do you want to take it now?”

Narcissa nodded.

Hermione cupped the blonde witch’s head to steady her and helped her empty the vial.

Narcissa’s eyes fell shut, and she stilled before a small shudder ran through her.

“How about Dottie runs you a bath?”

Sighing, Narcissa reached out for Hermione’s hand. “What about... you?”

“I’ll just wait in the living room.”

“I don’t...”

“Please. I think it would help you, and it’ll give the potion time to do its work while you relax in the warm water.”

“All right,” Narcissa said. “Can you get... her?”

“You know what? Is it OK if I do it? I’ll get her on my way to the living room so she can help you into the tub.”

“I’m... not an invalid.”

“No, but you’re weakened, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself if you fall or anything.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Go ahead. It’s... through there,” she said, and nodded toward the back of the bedroom.

Hermione squeezed Narcissa’s hands and rose to set up the water.

Close to an hour later, Hermione had settled with a book she’d found on a side table in the living room, Narcissa joined her, clad in deep green trousers and a blue blouse that matched her eyes. Hermione cleared her throat once that comparison entered her mind.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you,” Narcissa said, and with a little sigh, sat in her usual chair. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, and for... well, all of this.”

“What happened?”

“I’d stopped drinking after last Friday, and my restorative potion that had helped me get through most of the week stopped working.”

“It’s dangerous to quit alcohol just like that.”

“Hmm.”

“Why not call Andy at least?”

“Andromeda? My sister?

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“How… you know her.”

“Her grandson is Harry’s godson. But aside from that, we’ve become friendly. She’s helped me.”

“Helped you with what?”

“I… I had developed a dependency on the dreamless sleep potion.”

Narcissa winced. “Oh. That’s a nasty one.”

“That’s one way of putting it. That’s also… I don’t drink any alcohol because of that. I don’t trust myself.”

“In what way?”

“It’s too tempting sometimes to lose yourself and forget about… everything. I was drunk once, and I saw the appeal. The lightness, the warmth, and that feeling of contentment?”

“But the next day is terrible.”

“Yeah. That was another reason. But after having just gotten over my issues with that potion, I felt adding alcohol was tempting fate.”

“A wise decision,” Narcissa muttered.

“What made you decide to stop drinking?”

“It’s been on my mind for a while,” Narcissa said and pulled a pillow close to her chest. “Even before you started to visit, I’d realized that I might have a problem, but once our Friday evening ritual started, my desire to drink dwindled some, but in the end, it was the potion.”

“The memory one?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to—”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. It was time either way. While I still struggle with life, I also don’t want to watch it waste away.”

“You struggle with life?”

“Sometimes, I just want to sleep forever.”

“I believe that’s commonly referred to as death,” Hermione replied.

Narcissa laughed. “We don’t know that for sure. Maybe what comes after death is the opposite of sleep, and instead, it’s just another adventure.”

“All right.”

“I’m not suicidal, Hermione, though I’ll admit that death fascinates me, and there are moments when everything is so heavy, and I just want it all to stop. Despair is a kind of death while you’re alive. It robs you of joy, of light, the general belief that life is worth living.”

“You don’t think life is worth living?”

“I didn’t say that. There are moments when I cannot seem to appreciate what life offers; the good, warm, happy moments. They are all lost to me because I’m drowning in the dark.”

“How do you get out of such a state?”

Narcissa shrugged her shoulders. “Alcohol offers the illusion of help, but sometimes even that seems preferable.”

“That’s no solution.”

“I’m aware, and believe it or not, I know how you get out of these moments.”

“Go on.”

“That’s it, though. There’s no big secret, no mechanism to make things better. No magic,” she said with a dry laugh. “In the end, it just happens, and you get out of these slumps simply because _nothing_ is unbearable, and that, my dear, is the most unbearable characteristic of life. The despair, the heaviness, it’ll fade away, after some time, and it usually clears your vision, and you’re once more able to appreciate life.”

“So you’re saying we just have to wait for things to get better?”

“Sleep helps, too. But what else is there?” Narcissa asked.

Friday #6

Two weeks had passed, and Narcissa still experienced moments when temptation called her to reach for a glass of wine or fire whiskey. As an extra layer of protection, she’d instructed Dottie to hide all their alcoholic beverages under a charm that would prevent anyone from using the summoning charm, and to refuse to procure them, should Narcissa ever ask, which thankfully, she hadn’t so far. That didn’t mean there weren’t any close calls.

However, there was one positive aspect to her refusal to leave the manor–she couldn’t just buy more alcohol for herself. Besides, it also allowed her focus on finishing the memory potion. Progress had been slow but steady, given that her physical and mental abilities weren’t fully restored yet. She’d continued taking the withdrawal potion, but even with that help, her body and mind needed time to recover.

During their previous meeting, Hermione had suggested for Narcissa to see a mind-healer to help with her problem, but that was out of the question. While she didn’t care as much about appearances as her family did traditionally, that was taking things a step too far. The Daily Prophet would have a field day with such news. Ever the clever witch, Hermione then argued for her to see a Muggle psychologist, their version of a mind-healer, or at least, join something called an AA meeting where people with her problem talked about their experiences.

While Narcissa saw the wisdom in those suggestions, all of this would require her to leave the manor, and she just couldn’t bring herself to do that. She’d figure it out somehow.

Tonight, though, she was going to surprise Hermione with a finished potion that would hopefully restore her parents’ memories.

To quell her nervous energy, Narcissa had spent the afternoon in the garden, weeding by hand. She blamed Hermione for all this newfound Muggle influence, though she had to admit the dark-haired witch was correct, the activity was indeed therapeutic, and it took her mind off tonight.

After taking a bath, she’d paced the living room, waiting for the doorbell to ring and Dottie to usher in Hermione. When that finally happened, she halted in the middle of the room, staring at the door.

“Hi. How are you?” Hermione greeted her, as always equipped with a brown paper bag and her trusty messenger bag swung over her shoulder.

Narcissa couldn’t reply right away, overcome with how much she’d missed the younger witch’s presence, even though they’d seen each other a week before, and had been in regular contact via letters. She was losing her mind, and none of this would have a happy ending. Still, she was going to get Hermione’s parents back before her curse would destroy everything.

Hermione frowned. “Are you all right?” She placed both bags on the table.

“Yes, sorry. Hello, dear. I’m fine, no need to worry. I’d just been anticipating this moment, and—”

“You have?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide in wonder as a pleased smile formed on her face.

“Yes. I... I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh? Let’s see it then.”

“How do you know it’s something to see?”

“I don’t. That was just an expression. What is it?”

Narcissa went to her chair and opened her purse, pulling out two vials with reddish-brown, thick liquid, and covered them with her hands. “I want to assure you this is safe. I have high hopes one dose will be enough, but I can make more. I still have all the ingredients, and—”

Hermione seemed to bounce up and down. “The potion! You finished the potion, but you said—”

“I got a lot of work done on it over the last two days, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case—”

“Oh, Merlin! Narcissa! That’s unbelievable.” Hermione rushed forward and pulled Narcissa into a crushing hug.

“Careful, the vials,” Narcissa said, annoyed she couldn’t enjoy the embrace, but protecting the vials was more important.

“Sorry,” Hermione said, pulling back. “When can we give it to them?”

Narcissa placed the vials back in her purse. “You can give it to them tomorrow. The potions will last until Sunday for sure, but I’d prefer if you’d administer them before then.”

“What do you mean, I can do that? Where will you be?”

“Here, of course,” Narcissa said.

“I thought you’d come along. What if something goes wrong? I don’t want to do this alone! I cannot bring them here. It’ll be hard enough to get them to drink the vials, and without you—”

“I haven’t left the manor in... an awfully long time. I can’t, Hermione, I—”

“You won’t. You _can_ leave the manor, and Merlin knows, it’s time you do so. You can’t spend the rest of your life stuck in this place.”

“I’m not stuck here!”

“Oh? Then why don’t you leave? Right, because you don’t want to!”

“That’s not fair! I...” Narcissa closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. This wasn’t how she’d pictured this. “I’m scared,” she whispered, avoiding Hermione’s gaze.

The dark-haired witch deflated and inched closer to Narcissa. She reached out her hand and hesitated before touching Narcissa’s arm. “There’s nothing to fear. You are free. Some people might hold the war against you, but they don’t count. Most people just want to move on and live their lives, and they will probably just ignore you.”

“I don’t even know what I’m scared of!” Narcissa ground out, one of her hands joining Hermione’s on her upper arm, and she squeezed it.

“Maybe after a while this... molehill has grown into a mountain?”

“Excuse me?”

“Sometimes we react to something, like after the war ended, and you withdrew because everything was too much to deal with, and our first instinct is often to hide away. That’s normal, and not a problem, but what started out small grew because you kept hiding and as time passed, the prospect of leaving became unsurmountable.”

“Yes, that makes sense. But understanding it doesn’t change how I feel. I still... it terrifies me.”

“I understand, and I’m not... I wasn’t trying to make light of what you’re going through, but I really need you there. And you won’t be alone. I’ll be there with you, and not only are we going to a Muggle area, but we also won’t even be in England. They live in Australia.”

“Oh, Hermione...”

“Please! Look, if we get there and it’s too terrible and you can’t do it, I’ll return you here and go back myself. I promise.”

Narcissa sighed. She wanted to go, not only in case something went wrong but also because she wanted to be there for Hermione. What if it didn’t work and then the dark-haired witch was all alone in her despair while Narcissa sat uselessly in her manor? “All right.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said with shining eyes and leaned forward to hug the blonde witch again, and this time, Narcissa allowed herself to enjoy the embrace.


	5. Will You Come Running?

Narcissa had barely slept the night after they’d continued their conversation and even played another round of chess in which Hermione had come close to beating her. Narcissa had blamed it on the withdrawal potion addling her mind and slowing down her senses, though that argument hadn’t convinced Hermione.

When she’d lain in bed at night, tossing and turning, her mind spun one horror scenario after the next for their outing the next day. Narcissa ended up cleaning her mind vault and strolled through happier memories to distract from what would happen come morning. She’d leave the manor, for the first time in over a year, and all because of that dark-haired witch who had taken up residence in her mind, and who apparently got Narcissa to commit to unimaginable actions. Not to mention that... No, she’d refused to go there. She wouldn’t allow herself such indulgences, given that not only was it impossible for so many reasons, but she’d never destroy the light that was Hermione Jean Granger.

All too soon, the next morning arrived, and with it, Hermione.

“I’d still say confounding them is safer than this dentist nonsense,” Narcissa said, seamlessly continuing their discussion from last night when Hermione had explained her plan to get her parents to drink the potion.

“I’m not comfortable placing my parents under any more spells. Besides, what if it messes with their memories or inhibits the potion?”

“It wouldn’t. I’ll admit this is a morally grey area, but I’d not be mad at Draco if he did that. Mind you, I’d murder him for erasing my memories of him in the first place.”

“How comforting,” Hermione muttered. “And naturally, a Slytherin arguing for a morally grey deed.”

“If that’s what the situation demands.”

“Yes, if there’s no other way, and if my idea doesn’t work, we’ll have to do that. But first, I want to try the new mouthwash salesperson spiel.”

“They are your parents, so this is your call to make. I’d like to point out, though, taking their memories was morally questionable as well, so it’s not as if you’re incapable of choosing such an option.”

“Under extreme duress!”

“Sure.”

Hermione grumbled and pulled an old boot out of her bag.

“What is _that_?” Narcissa said, utterly scandalized and eying the boot with disgust.

Hermione laughed. “Figures it would offend your sense of style. This,” she said, holding up the chartreuse colored shoe, only for Narcissa to interrupt her again.

“Why would such a travesty even exist?”

“It’s a port key.”

“Obviously, but won’t that stand out and tempt people to touch it? Then again, it’s so ugly, people will be afraid to even get close to it, much less touch it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ll keep it in my purse.”

“Fine.”

“Are you ready? Remember, we can come right back if you can’t do it.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Narcissa said, gritting her teeth.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, and smiled at Narcissa.

“I’m in the habit of doing things for people I care about that I wouldn’t do for myself. You’re just lucky you belong to that minuscule group.”

“I am,” Hermione said, and the dark-haired witch’s solemn expression touched Narcissa. “Ready?” She held the boot out for Narcissa to touch.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“On three. One, two, three.”

Narcissa touched the toe of the shoe and with a tug, they were dragged into a vortex and spat out in a woody area in Australia.

“I hate traveling with port keys,” Hermione groaned.

“There are potions to alleviate the motion sickness that can come along with it,” Narcissa said, her gaze drifting over cacti and shrubs. It felt disorienting but also freeing to be outside of the manor.

“Are you OK? Can we continue?”

“I think so.”

“Great. Come on. My parents don’t live far from here.”

“Why would they have a business meeting on a weekend?”

“It’s unusual, but there’s not much we can do. We still have magic if all else fails.”

They marched through the woods for a few minutes before exiting onto a country road leading up to a cozy looking farmhouse.

“That’s them?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said, strained.

Narcissa reached out, taking Hermione’s hand, and squeezing it. “It’ll be OK.”

Hermione chuckled. “I’m supposed to be reassuring you.”

“I’m fine, dear.”

Hermione smiled at Narcissa who felt heat creep up her neck. How she wished...

They rang the doorbell after placing the glamor on themselves that made them appear like dental salespeople.

“Good evening, Mr. Wilkins. My name is Jean Smith, and this is Eva Miller. We’re here according to your call to try our new mouthwash that is safe to swallow.”

“I don’t recall making such a request,” he replied.

“It came to us from your office with an appointment for a showing tonight,” Narcissa said the rehearsed line.

“Maybe my wife... wait a moment,” he said and called for Hermione’s mother. “Monica? Can you come here, dear?”

“Yes, Wendell?”

“These ladies said we’d requested a showing of a new mouthwash for tonight. Do you recall setting that up?”

“No, but maybe Kate did. Come on in,” she said, and both stepped back to allow Narcissa and Hermione inside.

They’d placed a glamor on the vials as well so that they’d appear to look exactly like Hermione’s parents pictured them.

“Here you go,” Hermione said and handed each a flask.

“You want us to try them now?” Monica asked.

“No time like the present,” Narcissa said. “You should swallow them after, just to get the full experience.”

Wendell eyed the vial skeptically. “Doesn’t ‘safe to swallow’ usually refer to accidentally ingesting a few drops, not purposefully drinking the mouthwash?”

“It’s a whole new design. This way, you can assuredly tell your patients that no harm will befall them, and that you’ve swallowed it yourself,” Hermione said.

“Oh, why not,” Monica said and drank the liquid, squishing it in her mouth before swallowing it, while Wendell followed suit.

“Ugh, this is vile,” he said with a grimace. “You need to work on…” He’d coughed into his arm, and when he raised his head, he stared transfixed at Hermione.

Monica did the same. She just stood there with her gaze locked on the dark-haired witch.

Hermione shuffled on her feet and Narcissa refrained from reaching out to her.

Their eyes turned glassy, then both Monica and Wendell seemed to stumble before straightening themselves.

Monica’s hand flew to her mouth while tears shot into her eyes. “Hermione, sweetheart, is… is that you?”

Hermione nodded, sobbing, before rushing into her mother’s arms.

Wendell shook his head, but the scene in front of him, his wife and daughter’s tearful reunion, seemed to be the final push, and he cried Hermione’s name and hurried to join them.

Narcissa wiped her eyes and stepped out of the room.

***

Hermione couldn’t stop crying. Her parents remembered her, and they were here, right here together. All thanks to Narcissa. If she had rejected Draco’s request, or if they hadn’t established their Friday evening routine that had morphed into a friendship, none of this would have happened.

She released her parents, intending to thank the blonde witch when she noticed she was no longer in the room.

“Narcissa?” She called.

“Your friend left the room, probably wanting to give us a moment,” her father said, kissing the top of Hermione’s head.

“She is your friend, right?” Her mother asked, rubbing Hermione’s upper arm. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Yes, she is. She created the potion that restored your memories.”

“Thank goodness. This mouthwash would have been a failed investment,” her father said, and Hermione laughed, new tears spilling down her cheeks.

“How did we lose our memories?” Her mother asked.

“Oh,” Hermione breathed. She’d dreaded that part of this conversation. Would her parents forgive her, or would this cut short their reunion? Would they ask her to leave and never come back?

“Sweetheart, are you OK?” Her mother said, stroking Hermione’s hair.

“Yeah, it’s just… you remember the war that had started in the wizarding world?”

“Yes. Did one of those fools in black hoods get to us?” Her father asked.

“No, but they’re still the reason or motivation. I… Harry had a mission from Dumbledore, after he’d died, and Ron and I wanted to help him, but it was dangerous.”

“But you’re all right? The boys, too?” Her mother asked.

“Yes. The war is over. We’ve won.”

“That’s fantastic!” Her father uttered.

“I did it. I’m so sorry, but I knew you’d never choose to leave my side and… If they’d found you, they’d have tortured and killed you and I couldn’t lose you. You’re all… all I have,” Hermione rushed out, breaking down in tears again.

Silence.

Her parents stared at Hermione unmoving as the seconds ticked by.

***

Narcissa had left to offer Hermione and her parents a measure of privacy, but she couldn’t stand not knowing what was going on. Was Hermione all right? Were her parents furious? Would they reject her?

With a racing heart she’d snuck close to the door and listened in, right when Hermione revealed that they’d won the war.

But why weren’t they reacting to Hermione’s confession a moment later? Did the potion somehow damage their minds? No. That was impossible.

“You did what?” Hermione’s mother finally found her voice.

“I... I erased your memories of me and... I needed you away from England, so I made it that you guys had always dreamed of moving to Australia,” Hermione said, in a voice so small and fearful, it tore at Narcissa’s heart.

Hermione’s parents sat down at the dining room table, motioning their daughter to join them.

“Are you mad at me?” Hermione asked once settled.

“Yes,” her mother said, and Hermione flinched.

Narcissa balled her hands into fists.

“But sweetheart, that doesn’t mean we don’t love you,” she said and reached out for Hermione’s hand.

Narcissa relaxed.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Hermione’s mother said. “When we first learned that you’re a witch, we were excited, but also fearful for the dangers you’d be facing. Dangers from which we could never protect you.”

“We felt helpless. Our baby was suddenly living in a world we never even knew existed, and there were people... There are always bad people, or people with ill intent, but... we used to stand a chance. We used to have some... capacity to be there for you, to help you,” Hermione’s father said.

“But—”

“No, let us finish,” he said.

Hermione nodded.

“We didn’t expect, maybe naively, that you’d ever direct your magic against us,” her mother said.

Hermione lowered her head.

Her father clasped Hermione’s other hand. “Like your mother said, we will always love you. Nothing could ever change that. But we... we need to process this, and I know I’d be lying if I said this didn’t hurt. I understand that there are aspects of your world that are difficult for us to imagine, but you... I wish you’d have trusted us more and discussed the situation with us. We could have found a solution together.”

“But what if... what if you said no? Then my only choice would have been to go explicitly against your wishes, whereas what I did—”

“You thought you’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission?” Hermione’s mother asked.

“Yes.” Hermione withdrew her hands and placed them into her lap, her head downcast.

Narcissa longed to be by her side and comfort her.

“Don’t be so glum, sweetheart. Our relationship isn’t destroyed or even damaged. We are endlessly grateful to have you back, and we’ll get over this, but you cannot expect us to not feel... hurt.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said and wiped her eyes. “I never meant to hurt you or... or violate you, but there was no time for a long discussion, and everything was so... much, so heavy, and I felt like I had no other choice. I just needed you to be safe.”

“We are safe, dear,” her father said.

“And we will figure out the rest,” Hermione’s mother said, once more drawing her daughter’s hand into her own.

“As long as you don’t hate me,” Hermione muttered.

“Never,” her parents said in unison.

***

They’d left Hermione’s parents shortly after their discussion, and after planning for them to move back to England; her parents had never gotten used to the climate and also wanted to be closer to their daughter.

Hermione had been silent once they’d returned to the manor and settled in Narcissa’s living room, this time, sitting next to each other on the couch.

“Are you all right?” Narcissa asked, unsure if it would be better to allow the dark-haired witch to start this conversation, but that also carried the risk of giving the impression she didn’t care. While she didn’t want to crowd Hermione, she’d loath for her to think even for a second that Narcissa didn’t care.

“Huh? Yes. Sorry. Spaced out again.”

Narcissa chuckled.

“How are you? It was sweet of you to leave the room and give me time with my parents,” Hermione said.

“I’m fine. It was... strangely freeing to be out of the manor, and honestly, not as terrifying as I expected.”

“I’m glad. Things are often worse in our imagination. Maybe that’s why psychological thrillers are scarier than slasher movies.”

“You are speaking in tongues, dear.”

“Sorry. Right. It’s... Muggle movies. Pictures that move, and it’s like a book. A story?”

“Slasher movies doesn’t sound like a book I’d want to read.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Why are you so sad? I thought tonight went remarkably well.”

Hermione chuckled. “And you’d know about our conversation how?”

Narcissa ducked her head. “I could hardly leave you alone. What if they’d been horrible?”

“Thank you,” Hermione said and grasped Narcissa’s hand. “You do not know how much this meant to me. I’d mostly given up hope, and I don’t know how you created this potion so quickly and—”

“Shh,” Narcissa muttered, placing a finger on Hermione’s lips. “There’s no need to thank me. I happily helped, and never forget, you’re the one who has helped me for almost two months. Without you, I’d never have left the manor, and I’d likely still be drunk and...” Narcissa withdrew her hand.

“You wanted to stop drinking before all this started, and I’m sure you’d have found a way without me.”

“Perhaps, but this was much faster, and definitely easier.”

“I’m glad I could help you,” Hermione said and smiled.

Both witches held each other’s gaze, and everything within Narcissa called to reach out and pull Hermione close, to lose herself in her embrace and to make her stay. She dreaded the times Hermione would leave, and how long it would always take to see her again, and... when did they get so close?

Narcissa was about to ask if Hermione wanted to stay for the rest of the day, when she found herself mute, her eyelids fluttered while her mind tried to comprehend Hermione’s nearness to where Narcissa could feel her breath ghost over her lips.

“I’ve wanted to do this for ages,” Hermione whispered, her gaze dropping to Narcissa’s lips.

A tremor ran through the blonde witch, and her hands tightened, almost clawing into her thighs to stop herself from moving–running away or crushing the dark-haired witch to her body–it was anyone’s guess, and both options appeared just as likely to Narcissa. 

“Hermione I...” she started, unable to prevent the forward shift of her body. The tension in her frame locked her in a place where her desire to close the distance and claim Hermione’s lips warred with her fear of destroying everything they’ve built.

Hermione saved her from deciding by closing the space between them and connecting their lips.

At the first, soft touch of Hermione’s lips against hers, Narcissa’s eyes fell shut, and she trembled, her body still stiff from the anxiety holding her in place. She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t...

A broken groan tumbled from Narcissa’s lips when Hermione opened her mouth, her hot tongue begging for entrance before greedily licking into Narcissa’s mouth the moment that hoarse sound had fallen from the blonde witch’s lips.

Hermione sunk her hands into Narcissa’s hair and pulled her closer to her body.

Helplessly, Narcissa fell into Hermione, deepening their kiss. 

Hermione’s hands left her hair and trailed down her back, cool fingers digging into her hips before Hermione tugged, urging Narcissa to straddle her lap.

The feeling of their bodies pressed close together alone would have made Narcissa collapse had she not been sitting, secured by Hermione’s hands that stole under her shirt, her fingers scratching up Narcissa’s naked back.

Hermione’s hips ground up into Narcissa, threatening to drown the blonde witch when a never experienced wave of arousal coursed through her.

With great difficulty, and even more regret, Narcissa pulled back, breaking the kiss, and panting, she connected their foreheads.

“Are you OK?” Hermione asked, her pupils dilated, and her lips swollen.

Narcissa yearned to sink back into their kisses. “Yes, but we shouldn’t do this.” Narcissa realized that the fact she was still sitting in Hermione’s lap and did not try to move, contradicted her words.

Hermione let go of her and leaned back. “I didn’t mean to push you or... I thought you wanted this, too?”

“I do,” Narcissa said, worrying her lower lip.

“Then what’s the problem? Is it too fast? We can slow things down, and—”

Once more Narcissa pressed her finger against Hermione’s lips.

“I... I destroy the things I want, dear. And I can’t do that to you.”

“Destroy? How? I don’t understand.”

Narcissa sighed and finally shifted off Hermione, trying to ignore her body’s protest at the move. “That’s been the story of my life. Whenever I wanted something badly, I’d ended up causing its destruction.”

“You... you want me badly?”

Narcissa released a rueful chuckle. “That’s what you concentrate on?”

“It’s the only relevant part?”

Narcissa shook her head and reached out a hand, cupping Hermione’s cheek, who leaned into the gesture. “You’ve become... an integral part of my life, after such a short amount of time, even with all the history between us, and... even though I know I shouldn’t, I couldn’t help it. Yes, I want you, terribly. More than I can remember ever wanting someone in this way.”

“I still don’t see the problem.”

“Destruction isn’t a problem?”

“That’s an assumption. Just because something happened in the past, doesn’t mean it’ll play out in the same way.”

“I cannot risk it. I’ve never experienced a different outcome.”

“Does this refer to... romantic entanglements or, well, everything?”

“I’ve never had a romantic entanglement I desired before.”

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed again.

Narcissa held her gaze.

“I’m so sorry. That’s terrible,” Hermione mouthed, seeking and squeezing Narcissa’s hands.

Narcissa shrugged her shoulders. “It is what it is. And no, this issue relates to everything I desire. It covers all aspects of my life.”

A small smile bloomed on Hermione’s face, and Narcissa frowned.

“What?”

“You’re wrong then,” Hermione said, and her eyes shone.

“Oh? Am I?”

“Draco.”

“What about him?”

“I’m assuming he’s someone you wanted. Right?” Hermione’s face fell, and her eyes widened. “Please tell me that—”

“Shh,” Narcissa muttered. “Of course, I wanted my son.”

Hermione relaxed.

“But this curse didn’t spare him either. He almost died, thanks to his father,” she growled the last bit.

“He’s alive though, and he’s doing well.”

Narcissa smiled. “Yes.”

“So?”

“I’ve lived my life in terror that something would happen to him, and when it almost did, when I didn’t know if he was still ali....” Narcissa ground her jaw. “At Hogwarts, during the battle, and—”

Hermione reached out and rubbed Narcissa’s arms.

“I can’t do that again. I cannot live my life in fear of destroying you. Of causing you pain. I had no choice with Draco, and I wouldn’t give up my son for anything in the world, but... Here I have a choice. I cannot be this selfish.”

“How would you even destroy me? Will you wake up one night and curse me?”

“What? No! Of course not!”

“Then how would this whole destruction business work?”

“You’re not taking me seriously!”

“I am,” Hermione rushed out. “I swear, I’m not making light of this, but... I’d like to see where this... thing between us goes. And you want me, too, yet you don’t because of this curse you believe to be under. I want to understand it.”

“I don’t understand it myself. It just always happened. The cat I wanted and loved, died, the sisters I’ve lost and failed to save or reconnect with, the son who almost died, the career I always wanted and never... never had a chance to pursue. Everything I’ve really wanted eventually came crashing down, and something would take it away from me or place it out of reach.”

“But isn’t that all not more related to... your upbringing and the rules of your parents?”

“That doesn’t change what happened.”

“No, but it doesn’t guarantee a repeat. You could also still reconnect with Andy, and I’m sorry, but you’re not responsible for the choices Bellatrix made, and it wasn’t on you to save her.”

“You won’t say any of this when doom is raining down on you!”

“Wow. You... Is all this just an elaborate excuse? You can admit if you don’t want me. You don’t have to come up with reasons for—”

Narcissa surged forward, kissing Hermione harshly, loaded with anger, frustration, and a desire she struggled to hold at bay. She climbed back into the brown-haired witch’s lab, grinding, running her hands down Hermione’s body before grabbing one of Hermione’s wrists and pushing her hand inside her pants, under her panties and into her heat. Narcissa groaned and broke the kiss at the sensation of Hermione’s fingers trembling between her legs.

***

Hermione shuddered and moaned, her fingers immediately gliding through wet folds. Her own arousal coiled low in her stomach, and she whimpered when Narcissa pulled away again, removing her hand. Raising her head, Hermione lost her train of thought at the feverish, pained expression on Narcissa’s face.

Narcissa’s eyes shone with tears, her cheeks blotched red and her hair askew. Her chest heaved in heavy pants and she ground her jaw. “My desire for you is blinding, and not just physical. I said I’ve desired no one more than you, and I mean it. I’m in awe of you, and the idea of getting to be with you, having a life with you...” Narcissa shook her head and released a broken laugh. “I cannot put into words what such a reality would mean to me.”

“Then why can’t we try?” Hermione said, tears shooting into her eyes.

“Because I will not hurt you. I will not bring you down. I want to see you happy and live a life full of joy and laughter. You won’t ever have that with me.”

“You realize you are hurting me with this decision?” Hermione asked, unable to prevent tears from leaking down her cheeks.

Narcissa caught a tear on the tip of her finger and eyed it silently for a moment before catching Hermione’s gaze and wiping away her tears. “Yes, dear, but the pain you’re experiencing now pales compared to what’s in store for you if I make a different decision.”


	6. Difference

Friday #7

Hermione had contemplated confiding in someone about her dilemma with Narcissa, but her two preferred options, Andy and Harry, seemed less than ideal. Talking to Narcissa’s older sister about her desire for the blonde witch might be awkward, while Harry... was just Harry. He was a good guy and would try his best, but thinking back on his disaster with Cho, not to mention how long it took him to get his act together with Ginny?

Then there was Ginny, an option as well, but something stopped Hermione. She had told no one about her growing friendship with Narcissa, so for all of them this would be a surprise. At first she didn’t want them to add to her doubts about their meetings, and then she’d gotten used to it just being the two of them, a secret she treasured.

So far, Narcissa hadn’t canceled their meeting for later tonight, though Hermione hadn’t decided if she wanted to go. She wanted to see Narcissa and spend time with the older witch, but her refusal to even try to see what could be between them left Hermione with a hollow feeling. She was sad, but also disappointed in Narcissa’s lack of courage. Then, when that thought crossed her mind, she felt terrible because she wasn’t in the blonde witch’s shoes, and while she’d been raised by loving and supportive parents, that had not been the case for Narcissa.

Hermione also hated it when people dumped a friend as soon as they realized their romantic interest wasn’t reciprocated. Though that Narcissa, while wanting her, too, only rejected her because she didn’t believe they had a future, made this even worse. She still remembered their kisses, recalling them too often, and she’d dreamed of two of them together, and in those nightly visions, Narcissa hadn’t stopped her hand from exploring between her legs.

Hermione swallowed hard. She shouldn’t think about that. That wasn’t helpful, at all.

Did she still want Narcissa in her life when they could never be more than friends? That was the question she needed to answer before showing up at Black manor tonight. She sighed.

Who was she kidding? Of course she’d choose to have Narcissa in her life in whatever capacity the blonde witch would allow. Maybe she could come up with a list to reasons for why they could work? But wasn’t that pressuring her? Hermione didn’t want that either. She should just accept Narcissa’s decision and let it go, no matter how much it hurt.

***

Narcissa hadn’t questioned Hermione showing up at Black manor on a Friday evening since their second meeting. All week long, she’d anxiously waited for an owl carrying a note, informing her of Hermione’s decision to cancel. Yet, it never happened. Narcissa suppressed the pangs of conscience for having doubted the younger woman given the emotional toll this week had taken on her.

She’d once even opened her mouth to demand Dottie locate her fire whiskey, but when she did, Hermione’s soulful eyes full of sadness and disappointment popped into her mind, and so she’d swallowed the question and went for a walk on the grounds instead.

She mentally cursed the dark-haired witch for upending her life, for making her want, not just her, but more out of life. A future. The younger witch had made her yearn for a future. How?

Narcissa scoffed. The last time she’d felt like that, she was barely a teenager, and Andromeda still lived at home, meanwhile Bella hadn’t drowned, though shadows-waves of madness sometimes had lapped at shore. Still, back then, they were just her sisters, and she loved them beyond anything. Such memories pulled her once more under water and reaffirmed that she’d made the right decision, no matter what her body had urged her to do instead, back on the couch when she’d felt Hermione’s fingers twitch fingers between her legs. _Don’t go there._ Narcissa couldn’t remember how often she’d chastised herself for such thoughts.

Feeling nostalgic, she’d asked Dottie to bake chocolate chip cookies for tonight. They’d likely be as awkward around each other as they were at the beginning.

She wished Draco had never asked Hermione to visit her. That was a lie, but one she kept telling herself.

The doorbell rang, and she froze, unsure what to expect, what to say or do. But then there Hermione stood again, same old two bags in her possession, and a soft, affectionate smile on her face that made Narcissa question her resolve for a moment.

“Hi,” Hermione said. “I brought Thai food again. I was in the mood for it. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Hello, dear. It’s good to see you. That’s fine,” Narcissa said with a small smile. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one feeling nostalgic. “Did you also bring your chess board?” Narcissa’s smile morphed into a grin.

“Let’s not go that far,” Hermione said and placed the bags on the table.

They ate in comfortable silence and settled in the living room afterward. On separate pieces of furniture, and Narcissa stifled the momentary feeling of disappointment flooding her. This was what she wanted. Hermione was respecting her boundaries. Weren’t Gryffindors supposed to be more reckless?

“I wasn’t sure you’d show tonight,” Narcissa confessed after a moment of silence lingered between them.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me here,” Hermione replied, and Narcissa gritted her teeth at the intensity of Hermione’s gaze.

“I still want to be your friend. If… if you’re still interested in that.”

“I want that, too, but I’m also not going to lie and say this is easy. Still, I… care about you. A lot. And I don’t want to lose you.”

Warmth rushed through Narcissa at those words. “Me neither,” she said.

Both witches startled when the doorbell rang again.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

“Only you,” Narcissa said, a small frown marring her features. Before she could call on Dottie and ask who was disturbing them, the door to the living room swung open, and Narcissa did a double take, unable to believe what she saw. In the door frame stood a tall, elegantly dressed woman, her long, blonde hair with accents of grey running through it, wound up in a tightly coiled bun. Her features were familiar, and so similar, Narcissa sometimes thought she saw them when she looked into the mirror.

“Mother,” Narcissa said and rose. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“That I can tell,” Druella sniffed.

Hermione froze in her seat, her gaze flickering between the two women who stood across each other, unmoving.

“Won’t you introduce me to you... guest?”

“Right. Mother, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is my mother, Druella Black.”

Hermione rose. “Nice to meet you, Madam Black,” she said, her hands clasped in front of her.

Narcissa felt the tension bleeding off the dark-haired witch, but there was little she could do to alleviate that, never mind her own anxiety that spiked within her mind. What was her mother doing here? She’d moved to the Black holding in the south of France, tired of the English weather and her daughters who were all utter disappointments.

“I’m sure,” Druella said, her gaze traveling along Hermione’s body. “Narcissa, isn’t she a bit young for you?”

Both Narcissa and Hermione flushed.

“That’s not... We’re friends,” Narcissa stammered.

“You? Friends with the Golden Girl of the British wizarding world? I seem to recall you stood on opposing sides during that last little... quandary.”

“Things change,” Hermione pressed out.

Druella’s gaze drifted back to Hermione. “I think you’ll come to realize, with age, let’s say, once you’ve reached my daughter’s age, that things don’t change. They might give the appearance of a difference, but they remain the same at their core.”

“That’s your opinion,” Hermione said, and Narcissa could tell she wanted to cross her arms in front of her chest.

“What has brought you here?” Narcissa finally found her voice again.

“I ran into my grandson. Apparently, he was on vacation with a lovely young lady in France, and we ran into each other.”

Unlikely story, but Narcissa decided not to challenge her mother’s version of the truth. “How lovely,” she said instead.

“Quite. He’s a fine, handsome, young man. If a bit... soft.”

Narcissa ground her jaw.

“I asked about you, and while he was hedging at first, he eventually told me everything.”

_Merlin, Draco, what did you do?_ Narcissa struggled to keep her face expressionless. “As you can see, I am doing well.”

“Hmm,” Druella hummed. “Judging by the company you... enjoy, I’d beg to differ.”

Hermione stiffened next to her.

“And what’s all this nonsense about you not leaving Black manor?”

“She leaves the manor. We went to Australia to visit my parents last weekend,” Hermione said, and Narcissa couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss or hex the dark-haired witch.

“Your parents? Why would my daughter accompany you to visit your... Muggle parents?”

“Never mind, mother. What do you want?”

“What do I want? Am I not allowed to check on my daughter in her apparent time of need?”

“It’s rather unusual for you to show such an interest,” Narcissa said, holding back a flinch. Did that just leave her mouth?

“Excuse me? How dare you talk to me in this way?” Druella marched closer, halting inches away from Narcissa. They were the same height, but everything within Narcissa screamed to withdraw, to make herself smaller so she could hide away.

Meanwhile, Hermione next to her seemed ready to pounce. And do what? Narcissa wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“I’ll never comprehend why your father left you controlling interest of the Black holdings, and so far I’ve refrained from challenging his provisions, but I’ve retained enough friends at the wizengamot to do something about it. Given your more curious and... _colorful_ choices of late, it might be my responsibility to look into conservatorship as well.”

Nausea swept through Narcissa. Leaving the majority of Black holdings to her was the only thing her father ever did for her, and he’d only done so when he died–offer her a fighting chance to escape her mother, and her marriage, if she chose to.

This was no empty warning from her mother, for she indeed had such connections and could make Narcissa’s life quite miserable. The only reason she had not done so thus far was two-fold: her father had been the natural heir of the Black fortune and therefore could determine what happened to it in case of his death. Second, Narcissa had allowed her mother ownership of the Black mansion in the South of France, her mother’s favorite vacation spot, and she’d added a generous allowance.

“I thought you were happy with your life in France?” Narcissa said.

“I am, but after hearing from Draco and witnessing you here... It’s raised some concerns, and it would be a dereliction of my duty as your mother, and as a person with a keen interest in the reputation and well-being of the House of Black, to allow this... travesty to continue.”

“Allow what to continue exactly?” Hermione said, and the fire in her eyes and fury in her voice enabled Narcissa’s next move.

Druella threw a disdainful look at Hermione. “Stay out of this, you pathetic—”

“Get out,” Narcissa said, jutting her jaw.

Her mother’s gaze shot back to her, and the icy blue eyes she’d inherited, narrowed. “Now listen you ungrateful child. I won’t tolerate—”

“I said get out, mother! Run to your friends at the wizengamot and see if they can throw the Black holdings to someone without an _ounce_ of Black blood in their veins.” Narcissa decided she must have lost her mind.

Druella sputtered.

Dottie popped in, looked at Narcissa and then turned to Druella. “Mistress is wanting you to leave. This way,” she held out a spindly arm, pointing at the door.

“I’ve never...,” Druella muttered. “This isn’t over, Narcissa,” she fumed, spun on her heels, and rushed out of the room.

“Dottie sees to it she leaves, Mistress,” Dottie squeaked and followed Druella, closing the door behind her.

Narcissa deflated.

***

Hermione had little experience with pureblood witches and wizards and their family dynamics, but she recognized a bully when she saw one.

“I’m sorry you had to witness this. Perhaps we should call it a night?” Narcissa said, not catching Hermione’s gaze.

“I’d like to stay, if you don’t mind, and there’s nothing to apologize for. Your mother... you’ve talked about your family and mother before, but... she’s a piece of work.”

“She’s something,” Narcissa said with a sigh.

“Let’s sit down. Do you want to talk?”

“I’m not sure what there is to say,” Narcissa said and followed Hermione back to the couch. This time, they sat next to each other again.

“I’ve never... this is actually something I’ve not researched.”

“Oh?” Narcissa said with a small chuckle. “There is such a thing?”

“Ha ha,” Hermione replied, sticking her tongue out. “Muggle society isn’t that accepting of same-sex relationships, well, it’s slowly getting better, and it is loads better compared to fifty, sixty years ago, but... I don’t know our world’s attitude on the topic. Are such pairings frowned upon?”

Narcissa shrugged her shoulders. “They are mostly met with indifference. Our society is more concerned with birth rates, but since it’s possible for two wizards or two witches to conceive with magic, this isn’t an issue.”

“Then why was your mother so... scandalized? Is it just because I’m a Muggle-born witch?”

Narcissa laughed. “There’s nothing ‘just’ about that to my mother, Hermione. You’re not only _not_ a pureblood or at least of mixed heritage, but you also fought Voldemort and won.”

Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. “Your mother was a Death Eater?”

“What? No. She’d do nothing so... crass. There were many people who didn’t join his ranks, who never got close to wearing his masks, but who supported his beliefs and ideas.”

“Your mother among them,” Hermione said.

“Yes.”

“So if I were a pureblood Voldemort sympathizer, she’d not mind us being together?”

“I believe we’ve established that that’s not the case. There’d be other... objections.”

“My age.”

Narcissa nodded.

“She’d think you’re robbing the cradle.”

Narcissa groaned. “This is moot anyway.”

“Right, because I’m completely wrong for you.”

Narcissa raised her head and held Hermione’s gaze. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t, but like you said, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Narcissa said, shuffling deeper into the couch.

“Do you think she has a chance challenging your ownership of the Black estate?”

“I want to say no, but my mother isn’t in the habit of making idle threats, and her friends at the wizengamot are real, and powerful.”

“There has to be something we can do! Isn’t the wizarding world big on blood and family?”

“Yes.”

“So how could she have a chance if you are actually a born Black, while she only married into the family?”

“She still carries clout, especially with certain members of that enclave.”

“Don’t tell me there are Voldemort supporters there, too?”

“There are horrible people in all walks of life, Hermione.”

Hermione shook her head. “I know, but I sometimes delude myself that certain groups of people should know better.”

“My mother was right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Things don’t really change. They only look like they do.”

“I disagree,” Hermione said.

Narcissa laughed. “You would, idealistic Gryffindor that you are.”

“Change isn’t easy, and it takes time. There will also always be setbacks, and that’s... difficult because then it seems like nothing changes. But if we went five steps forward and then a backlash pushes us three steps back, we’ve still gained two steps. Progress and change are slow, and people are impatient, yet change is inevitable. Human beings would have perished a long time ago without change.”

Narcissa gazed at her in amazement, and Hermione shifted in her seat. “You are right, though I tend to be more pessimistic in my overall outlook.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed that.”

Narcissa picked up a pillow and threw it at Hermione.

***

Friday #9

After having returned to their usual Friday routine the previous week, Hermione had managed to convince Narcissa of something awful. The dark-haired witch had spent almost two weeks, both in writing and in person, arguing her case until Narcissa relented. The blonde witch wasn’t sure if she did so because she wanted Hermione to stop pestering her, or because she saw the wisdom in Hermione’s suggestion.

This was now the second time Narcissa left Black manor, and again, the world didn’t end. She felt closer to ending this self-inflicted house arrest than ever before.

“Are you ready?” Hermione asked.

Narcissa grumbled.

“Come on. It won’t be bad.”

“If I get hexed or cursed, it’s on you.”

“Sure. I’ll take the blame.”

“Rightfully so, given it would be your fault.”

“Yes, yes,” Hermione said, knocking on the oak door in front of her.

They heard shuffling footsteps before the door swung open.

“Hello, Andy. I brought you a surprise visitor,” Hermione said.

Andromeda didn’t react to Hermione’s greeting, and instead she stared unmoving and unblinking at her younger sister who stood ramrod straight with a slightly jutted jaw.

Narcissa was going to kill Hermione. Oh, that would solve so many of her problems, but it would also cause an agony beyond comprehension. Perhaps she could contemplate a less tragic and permanent punishment for the dark-haired witch.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked.

Narcissa wasn’t sure whom she was addressing.

“Why don’t you come inside,” Andromeda said after another minute of silence had passed. She stepped back and allowed them entrance.

Narcissa felt Hermione’s hand on her lower back as she ushered her inside her sister’s home. Murder might not be overrated after all.

They followed Andromeda into her living room and sat down.

“This is unexpected,” her sister said.

“Yes, sorry about that. I was afraid you’d say no if I asked, and then I couldn’t be sure this one here wouldn’t chicken out beforehand,” Hermione said.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at Hermione. Yes. Murder wasn’t overrated. It might be the most rational response yet.

Andromeda laughed. “I believe you’re in for some trouble, Hermione, judging by my sister’s facial expression.

Hermione waved her off. “I can handle it.”

Heat crept up Narcissa’s neck. Since when did her sister prefer such high temperature indoors? She refrained from loosening the collar of her robe.

“That’s... interesting,” Andromeda said, shifting her gaze between the two women. “What brings you here?”

“I felt it’s time you two reconnected, and well, I thought there’s also an issue with your mother that might interest you,” Hermione said.

“Did you now. You’ve met our mother? How’d the old crone handle that, Cissa?”

“As well as expected,” Narcissa replied and against her will, smiled at her sister’s immediate burst of laughter.

“Oh, I wish I’d seen that,” Andromeda said.

“Well, you two have a lot to discuss. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll write you,” Hermione said, squeezing Narcissa’s hand before rising. She nodded at Andromeda and left.

“So,” Andromeda started.

“So,” Narcissa said.

“Want to explain what just happened?”

“Can’t you tell? I thought you two are friends?”

“We are, though I don’t recall her mentioning being friends with _two_ Black sisters,” Andromeda said. “Do you want something to drink? I got a delightful bottle of Irish fire whisky.”

“Just tea, please. If you don’t mind,” Narcissa said.

Andromeda tilted her head. “Sure. Give me a second.”

Narcissa released a harsh breath when her sister left the room. So far, so good. Still, a part of her wanted to hurry out of the room and bail. Why was this so hard? Right. Narcissa had been a coward and didn’t deserve her sister’s forgiveness. That seemed to be the story of her life. 

When Andromeda returned, she handed Narcissa a cup of tea before sitting down with one herself. “You want to start from the beginning?”

In lieu of an answer and to offer herself a tad more time to contemplate one, Narcissa blew air at her cup before drinking a sip. She placed the cup back down on its saucer. “It’s a long story.”

“I got time,” Andromeda said.

***

Pleased that her plan to reunite Narcissa and Andy had worked with no one getting hexed, Hermione returned home to her research. This was something she hadn’t shared with Narcissa so far. Not because she didn’t trust the other woman, far from it. She didn’t want to get her hopes up in case she found nothing, but also... this wasn’t an easy topic, and Hermione didn’t want to sadden the blonde witch if it wasn’t necessary. After all, that terrible woman was still her mother.

Hermione had spoken to Kingsley right after their unexpected visitor had almost ruined their Friday evening. He’d been surprisingly helpful and reached out to a few of his contacts, who had written Hermione. They came up with a plan.

Her parents had returned to England, and she’d helped them the previous weekend with settling in. Moving without magic must be a nightmare. While spending the evening with her parents, her father had insisted they watch a movie together. He had always been fascinated with the Nixon scandal, and she couldn’t count how often he’d watched _All the President’s Men_ , repeating its catchphrase of ‘follow the money,’ and after another night on the couch with her parents, Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford, Hermione had decided to do just that.

Narcissa’s father had died in 1992, and at the time, Narcissa had been in her late thirties and married to Lucius, but she’d accepted her inheritance of the Black fortune. It all had gone to her, with Andromeda disowned and Bellatrix in Azkaban. However, according to Narcissa, this hadn’t been a focus of her then. She’d gotten into an argument with her mother that she’d solved by handing over their property in France, as well as agreeing to an allowance for her mother. A most generous allowance.

This all happened during their second year at Hogwarts, which meant that by the end, there were rumors of Voldemort’s return. It goes to reason that Barty Crouch Jr. wasn’t the only supporter who had hidden his true loyalty, and there had to be some that were more successful and didn’t end up in Azkaban or weren’t known to everyone unlike Lucius Malfoy.

Druella Black appeared to be a cunning witch who’d avoid outward risks, given how keen she was on the reputation of the House of Black. She wouldn’t want it tarnished, and she’d want to go to Azkaban even less.

She hoped Kingsley’s contacts in France had written back with more information, as Narcissa had received an owl of her mother’s paperwork for the court filing the day before. She didn’t know how fast the wizarding court system worked and wanted to present her findings to Narcissa beforehand.


	7. Daring

Two weeks later, Hermione got Narcissa to leave the manor again.

“It’s not even a Friday,” Narcissa pouted.

“Are we only allowed to meet on Fridays? It’s Thursday. That’s practically Friday.”

“Does that mean we won’t see each other tomorrow?”

“What? No. Unless you don’t want to?”

“No. I want to see you tomorrow,” Narcissa said, somewhat mollified.

“Great. Now, I’m not sure if I should join today. My issue... it wasn’t alcohol related.”

“It’s similar enough,” Narcissa said. There was no way she’d enter this meeting alone.

“I could wait outside for you?”

“If you won’t come along, I will _not_ go!”

“All right, all right,” Hermione said. “Let’s apparate there?”

“If you do a side-along one. I don’t know where this place is.”

“Naturally,” Hermione said, holding out her arm.

Narcissa held on tight. They rarely touched anymore, which was for the better, but it also made this short and innocent touch more thrilling than it had any right to be. Narcissa refrained from rolling her eyes. It was a good thing Hermione wasn’t skilled at legilimency.

They arrived in an area of Muggle London Narcissa had never heard of and entered a building called community outreach center. What they were outreaching for, Narcissa didn’t know.

“We’re a few minutes early. Oh, look, they have coffee and pastries,” Hermione said once they neared a large hall. Right outside stood a table filled with assorted baked goods and pots of tea and coffee.

“You want some?” Hermione asked, filling a cup with black, steaming liquid before adding a dash of cream and honey.

“No, thank you. I’m good,” Narcissa said. The last thing her nerves needed was a jolt of caffeine.

“What about a pastry?”

Narcissa’s stomach revolted at the mere thought, nausea climbing up her esophagus. She shook her head.

Hermione picked up a scone and bit into it, licking her lips.

Narcissa averted her gaze.

“Come on. Let’s find a seat,” Hermione said and headed through the open door into a room that resembled an assembly room with rows upon rows of chairs. There was a podium at the front, and several people were standing nearby in a hushed conversation.

The room was filling up and people picked their seats, some sat near them. “Is this how... Muggles deal with such issues?” Narcissa leaned close and whispered in Hermione’s ear.

The dark-haired witch coughed.

With a frown, Narcissa patted her back. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes,” Hermione stammered. “Wrong pipe.”

“Hmm.”

“And there are different ways Muggles deal with addictions. This is one of them, but there are others, like the psychologist I suggested.”

“The mind-healer.”

“Yes.”

“This is better. The anonymity appeals to me.”

“You don’t say,” Hermione mumbled into her cup.

“It’s not like you’re not fond of secrets. I seem to recall that my sister, your friend, Andy, didn’t know about our little arrangement.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Look, they’re starting,” she said.

Narcissa focused her attention of the first speaker of the evening, a young man with spiky blond hair and a ring in his nose. Narcissa wondered what that was for, and if it was related to his torn pants. She turned to ask Hermione about it when he spoke.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Brian, and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hello, Brian,” the crowd replied as one.

***

Her previous outing with Hermione had been enlightening, but Narcissa didn’t feel inclined to sign up for a sponsor, though she’d not be averse to joining a few more meetings in the future.

She’d been in regular contact with Andromeda. They wrote letters every other day, and her sister had even visited her once at their old childhood home. They hadn’t approached the subject that stood between them–their parents disowning Andromeda, the incident with Draco, and Narcissa’s abandonment of her sister.

Narcissa didn’t know how to approach the topic, but tonight she’d have another chance, since her sister had announced she wanted to meet her. What for? Was it time to discuss everything? Did she change her mind and wanted to end their contact again? That appeared unlikely, given that Andromeda seemed as relieved as Narcissa was by this new development, and it would be much easier to end everything via letter. Why would she come to the manor for that?

Narcissa had told Andromeda about her issues with alcohol, and how Hermione had helped her, though she hadn’t mentioned the Muggle AA meeting she’d gone to with Hermione three days ago. They overall had spoken little about Hermione, though Narcissa longed to do so. She feared she would go insane if she didn’t share what was going on in her head with someone.

Before she knew it, her sister shot out of the fireplace Narcissa had connected with her house.

“Still as clumsy as ever, I see,” Narcissa said in greeting.

Andromeda sneezed. “I hate traveling with floo powder.” She sneezed again. “I think...” she sneezed. “I’m allergic.”

Narcissa frowned. “Why don’t you take a potion for it?”

“Don’t know,” Andromeda said, pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. “I rarely use it anymore.”

“Ah, avoidance.”

“You’d know all about that,” Andromeda said and fell into the sofa across from Narcissa, who placed her book on the coffee table.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Narcissa had prepared herself to talk about their past, but Merlin knew, it would be hard, and they both had a temper.

“Calm down. I don’t need to clear the air about our history. I... I understood what motivated you, and why you’ve done the things you did. It’s in the past. I... Honestly, I just wanted my sister back, and that’s good enough for me.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. Was she serious?

Andromeda laughed. “That’s a great imitation of a fish out of water. Very attractive. Not sure I’d take on that pose around Hermione.”

“What?” Narcissa asked. “Wait. You’re serious? We don’t need to discuss what happened, and—”

“Do you want to discuss anything?”

Narcissa held her sister’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for having been such a coward, and for abandoning you, and—”

“Shh,” Andromeda said and rushed to Narcissa’s side, pulling her crying little sister into her arms. “I understood. It’s unnecessary, but I forgive you. It’s OK. We are OK,” she cooed and rubbed Narcissa’s heaving back.

Narcissa clung to Andromeda and tension that she’d carried like an anchor around her neck for decades ebbed away, flowing out of her and into the warm neck and shoulders of her sister. She was forgiven.

Stillness spread between them and the minutes ticked by while the sisters held each other.

Once she’d settled again, Narcissa pulled back and wiped her eyes. “I must be a frightful sight.”

“No worse than usual,” Andromeda drawled, and Narcissa swatted her arm.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blubber all over you.”

“It’s fine. You worry too much. You always have.”

Narcissa sighed. “Change isn’t easy.”

“True, but sometimes it’s necessary.”

“Hermione would argue that change makes life better.”

Andromeda smiled. “She’s a smart witch.”

“She is,” Narcissa said, pulling a pillow close to her chest.

“Why won’t you be with her?”

“What?”

“And the fish face is back,” Andromeda said.

“That’s neither funny nor nice! I do _not_ look like a fish!”

“A little. Anyway, my question was clear.”

“Did Hermione talk to you?”

“She didn’t say a word, but I have eyes, you know. Even a brain that I use sometimes.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. She had terrible taste in the people she loved. Aside from her Dragon, but he was her flesh. Wait, what? She didn’t... Did she? Merlin, help her.

“Someone had an epiphany.”

“I don’t like you,” Narcissa griped.

“Whatever. We’re not talking about us. We’re talking about Hermione and you.”

“There’s no Hermione and me.”

“I thought you guys are friends?”

“We are. _Friends_.”

“OK, so there’s something.”

“Yes, but... not what you’re insinuating.”

“Is it a one-sided attraction? Because I could swear Hermione seems to have a huge crush on you.”

Narcissa covered her face with her hands and groaned. “It’s not one-sided, but it has no future.”

“Why?”

“Are you serious? Look at my life! I’ve destroyed everything I’ve ever wanted, or I’ve lost it, and—”

“Draco—”

“He almost died!”

“But he didn’t. Unlike Ted. Unlike Dora.”

Narcissa’s head dropped. How incredibly self-centered of her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Stop beating yourself up about things you never had any influence over. I didn’t mention them to hurt you or blame you.”

“But—”

“No. You can’t keep carrying the world. It’s too heavy, and you only got two hands!”

Narcissa laughed. “What?”

“I’m serious. It’s not yours to carry either. I know our parents were the hardest on you. Merlin knows why, and mother did a number on you, but you need to let this go. You need to stop letting the past define your present, your future.” Andromeda reached out for Narcissa’s hands. “Let me ask you something. When you spend time with Hermione, how do you feel?”

Narcissa tilted her head. “Light. I feel free and content. Safe.”

“Do you wish you could spend more time with her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think about her a lot?”

“All the time.”

“What does that tell you?”

“I know what that means. I am not dumb!”

“I never said you were.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“What’s holding you back?”

“I’m scared. I... when Draco was lost, and... I didn’t know if he’d survived and... those moments were the worst hours in my life.”

“I believe you.”

“But he was fine. He _is_ fine.”

“Yes.” Andromeda squeezed Narcissa’s hand.

“I don’t know if I... I never felt like this before. I never... Lucius, and I... we had and arrangement, but what was between us was most definitely not love. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone this way.”

“It’s scary.”

“Yes.”

“When I fell for Ted, I knew I’d lose my family, that I’d lose my sisters, and my heart shattered at the thought alone, and while I’d held hope that it would change one day, there was never a different choice. I... I couldn’t imagine my life without Ted by my side.”

“You don’t... you don’t regret it, even though... he’s...”

“Dead?” Andromeda sighed. “No. Don’t get me wrong. Losing Ted. Losing Dora,” Andromeda said and closed her eyes. “There’s no greater pain, and there are no words to even describe that loss. It’s like a part of your soul dies right along with them.”

“Then how—”

“But I don’t regret loving Ted. Not for a second. He gave me the best years of my life, and we had Dora. I don’t get to... she’s gone now, too, and...” Andromeda sucked in her lips. “They were my everything, and now, there’s just little Teddy. And you. My friends.”

“And Draco,” Narcissa added.

“Yes. The nephew I’ll hopefully meet soon.”

“I’ll make sure of that.”

“Time is an odd concept. People say time heals all wounds, but that’s hypogriff poop. Time allows you to continue, and with it, there’s a distance that makes breathing without the loved ones you’ve lost easier, but it’ll never stop hurting. You’ll always miss them and wish they were still here.”

“Then why would you—”

“Because what is life without the people we love? What existence do we lead, alone, cut off from the ones we love, the ones we want? For what? So their loss won’t hurt us?”

“But—”

“Would you mourn Hermione if she died now?”

“What? Of course! What kind of question is that? Don’t even go there! I can handle my own death since I wouldn’t have to live with it, but…”

“Isn’t it already too late then? You already care. You’re already deep in it. All you’re doing now is signing up for loss and pain down the road, without ever getting to enjoy what makes it all worthwhile.”

“And what’s that?”

“Spending your life with them. Loving them, with your heart, mind, and body.”

***

Friday #11

“You look tired, dear,” Narcissa said after Hermione had yawned for the third time after their dinner. “We can call it a night.”

“No, no. I... It’s funny actually.”

“How’s that?”

“Before we met, before Draco insisted I talk to you, I still suffered form terrible nightmares. The war had been a while, and you’d have thought that I’d worked through it all, and—”

“Not at all. Whoever expected that from you is a fool,” Narcissa said.

“Ouch. But yes, I’ll admit to being foolish at times.”

Narcissa snorted.

“You see, I’d lived in a cage, much like you did.”

“I still don’t go out much.”

“It’s only a matter of time before you’ll go back to normal.”

“Didn’t you once tell me in one of your letters that normal is overrated?”

Hermione waved her off. “Yes, and that still stands, though my word choice here needs work. I meant back to how things used to be before, when you’d leave your house.”

“I know. I’m just teasing you, dear. Go ahead.”

“Well, my cage wasn’t as noticeable as yours, so I doubt my friends would have picked up on it as easily as Draco did for you. I... I had decided to ignore the past, forget the future, and only exist in the present, but even that wasn’t really living.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Narcissa said.

“The past contained the war, and that was something I couldn’t deal with. I’m glad we talked that through in letters. It... it allowed me to deal with it in my own time without having to respond right away.”

“I’m happy it helped.”

“So the war and what happened was something I’d shoved away, first with dreamless sleep, and you know how that worked out.” Hermione sighed. “I tried lots of Muggle techniques from mediation to yoga, exercise, everything. But I’d still wake up screaming. My present also sucked, given the situation with my parents.”

“That’s fixed now,” Narcissa said.

“Yes.” Hermione said with a sweet smile that made Narcissa’s heart jitter. “As for the future, I’d told you how I’d chosen what to do with my life before my first Hogwarts letter arrived.”

Narcissa nodded.

“I love my job. It’s a combination of research and advocacy, and I feel like I’m making a difference.”

“You are. I’ve been meaning to tell you that, but I’ve been contacted by some of my former, less... prejudiced associates, and they told me about your program, and that they’d never thought of the situation and injustice in this way. Those are difficult people to reach.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Hermione said. “It still sometimes feels like I’m not living up to my potential. The only problem, I can’t tell if that’s me who feels that way, organically, because I’d rather do something else, or if I am reacting to expectations people are projecting onto me.”

“And that impacted your thoughts on your future?”

“Yes, but that’s not all. Everything fell together. My nightmares, my inability to move on from the war, failing my parents, and then choosing a career that appeared to disappoint everyone.”

“Hermione look at me,” Narcissa said, trying to hold back the cold anger that had risen within her.

The dark-haired witch raised her head, and tears shimmered in her eyes.

“You are... beyond everything anyone could ever hope or expect from you. You are incredibly smart, but what’s more, you are so kind. You believe in people, and you want to help, even those who don’t deserve it.” Narcissa held up her hand. “Let me finish. It doesn’t matter what job or career you’ve chosen. You’d do everything with passion, and to the best of your abilities. These magical beings that have been so neglected and mistreated by our society forever, they deserve a champion like you.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said with a still watery smile, but some of the sadness seemed to have drained away. “That means a lot to me.”

“I merely speak the truth.”

“Before we met, my life was one big, carefully constructed routine, and it... it was the only way I could function, especially once the dreamless sleep potion fell away. I focused on work and had scheduled outings with Harry and Ron. But for the most past, I sat at home, staring at my wall, watching time fade away. I used to read so much, and I had the time, but after the war... fiction seemed tiring and defeated. I can’t even explain.”

“What about non-fiction?”

“I didn’t have the attention span for that. It was all just too much.”

“But you’re better now?”

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“Then why are you so tired? And why was that funny?”

“Because I used to lose sleep to nightmares and... depression, really, but last night, I got so lost in this novel, I couldn’t put it down, and suddenly, it was after three in the morning. And I had to get up at seven, so...”

Narcissa’s eyebrows almost crawled off her forehead. “You’re tired because you read instead of sleeping?”

“Yes?”

“I was worried about you!”

“But can’t you tell that I’m well, and that... I am happy, here with you?” Hermione whispered.

Narcissa shook her head, unable to form words at first. “You are a wonder, Hermione Granger. And I’m pleased to hear that. I’m happy here with you, too.”

***

Friday #12

“I have a surprise for you, but you have to promise you won’t get mad,” Hermione greeted Narcissa, putting down her bags to dig through her messenger bag.

Narcissa groaned. “Nothing good has _ever_ come from such words. Hello, to you, too, dear,” she said.

“Oh right, yes. Hello,” Hermione said, and the flush that crawled up the younger witch’s neck distracted Narcissa as she contemplated how far down it spread.

Hermione pulled out several rolls of parchment, a few letters, and books.

“What’s all this about?” Narcissa asked, stepping next to Hermione.

“You know how your mother’s court case is starting next week?”

“Don’t remind me,” Narcissa said and heaved a sigh.

“Maybe it won’t be,” Hermione said, still organizing the items she’d spread out on the table.

Narcissa tilted her head. What was she up to? “What have you done, dear?”

“Well, I spoke with Kingsley, and—”

“You know I don’t want the ministry meddling in my affairs!”

“It’s not the ministry, it’s me! I only asked him as a friend for a favor. Besides, the ministry _is_ meddling in your business by virtue of this ridiculous court case your mother filed!”

“Go on,” Narcissa said, folding her arms in front of her chest.

“When you said that your mother supported Voldemort’s ideas and outlook, it reminded me of silent backers.”

“What’s that?”

“In the Muggle world, you often have people with a lot of money who support politicians or businesses, but do so in secret, through shell companies and such.”

“There are companies for shells?”

“No, it... that doesn’t matter. Sometimes people don’t want the world to know that they are supporting a candidate or a cause because it would be bad for their reputation, and sometimes it’s even illegal.”

“All right. Go on.”

“Well, I was wondering, your allowance to your mother is... steep, and she’s a smart woman. She likely already had amassed a fortune during her marriage with your father.”

“That’s a likely assumption.”

“So what if she used her money to help Voldemort?”

“What?”

“I know, I know. I wasn’t sure if I’d find something, or even if she actually did, but I figured, if she did financially support him, that could get her into trouble with the wizengamot that even her friends couldn’t get her out of.”

“And? Did you find something?”

“I sure did,” Hermione said, and her eyes glowed with both excitement and pleasure.

Narcissa, mesmerized by the sight of the dark-haired witch, didn’t react at first until Hermione bumped into her.

“Hey. Don’t space out. Here,” she handed Narcissa a parchment.

Narcissa’s eyes widened, and after putting down the sheet, she faced Hermione. “Do you know what this means?”

“Yes. Isn’t that great? Do you think she’d meet us to discuss this? What will be your terms?”

“I don’t know yet. I... I can’t believe this,” Narcissa said, dropping into a chair at the dining room table. Her gaze shifted from the parchment back to Hermione in amazement. The dark-haired witch had found a way for Narcissa to once and for all rid herself of her mother. How? Why? How could she ever...

“Hey,” Hermione said, settling down in the chair next to the blonde witch. “Are you all right? Are you upset? I know this is difficult, and—”

“No.” Narcissa clasped Hermione’s hand on the table. “Thank you. So much. I don’t... I’m speechless. I can’t believe you’ve done all this to... to help me. I’ll owe you forever.”

“Nonsense. I love helping you, and I enjoy research. This was like a puzzle, and I’m glad I could solve it. You owe me nothing. This is what friends are for.”

“Friends. Yes,” Narcissa said and squeezed Hermione’s hands, while the last conversation with Andromeda echoed in her head.

***

“What is this about? You need to talk to my solicitor. This is hardly appropriate, and I’m only here since you’re my daughter, and—”

“Sit down, mother. Please,” Narcissa said, holding back a sigh. Her mother knew how to work a nerve. She just wanted to be done with all of this. The court hearing was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, and she wanted to focus on other issues, more important issues than her mother’s newest controlling tantrum.

Druella narrowed her eyes but sat down. “I see you’ve invited your pet-mudblood to our home once more,” she sneered, glaring at Hermione.

Narcissa slammed her hands on the table. “Don’t _ever_ call her that!”

Druella’s lips drew into a thin line as she stared at her daughter, but she remained silent.

“You will abandon your court filing, and you will walk out of my life. Forever. Go back to France and live your life there. Stay away from my family, and this includes Hermione,” Narcissa said, reaching out and clasping Hermione’s hand, who looked at her with wide eyes.

Druella eyed their hands with disdain before focusing on Narcissa. “And why would I do that?”

“Because of this,” Narcissa said, and with her free hand pushed a long parchment in front of her mother.

Sighing, Druella picked up the roll and read. Minutes ticked by, and with their passing, color drained from Druella’s face, giving her an ashen look before red blotched on her cheeks. “I see,” she said, dropping the paper on the table. “Who have you shown this to?”

“No one,” Narcissa said. “And we won’t show it to anyone, as long as you agree and, more importantly, adhere, to our stipulations.”

“You want me out of your life,” Druella said, holding her head high.

“Yes, and don’t forget, that includes my family.”

“Which is also my family,” Druella said.

“Mother, you haven’t bothered to visit us since shortly after father died. You’ve last met Draco when he was twelve.”

“I was busy,” Druella sniffed. “That is no reason to blackmail me, to banish me from this family.”

Narcissa didn’t reply.

“You are choosing _her_ over me? Your own mother?”

“In a heartbeat, but this isn’t about Hermione. It’s about what you’ve done, and the machinations you’re plotting to squeeze more money out of me. Are you running low on funds, mother? Did helping Voldemort bleed you dry? Is that why you sought out Draco in the first place?”

“How dare you?”

Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m so tired, mother. I... I’ve spent my life in your shadow, even after you were gone, I was stuck, adhering to your rules and ideas about who I should be. How I should live.”

“You’re a Black, Narcissa. This comes with certain responsibilities.”

“I doubt you’d have acted differently if we were commoners, but that’s not the point. You may have whatever expectations and ideas for who I should be, but I’m done. I want to live my life according to who I want to be, independent of my background and upbringing.”

“You owe it to—”

“I owe _nothing_ to anyone. This life is my own. I am forty-six years old, mother, and I feel like I haven’t lived life. I’ve existed, followed rules, and been terrified of everything.”

“You act as if your life has been torture,” Druella said.

“No. It hasn’t been. I’ve been both lucky and privileged, but that doesn’t mean that I was ever free.”

“Freedom is overrated. Especially, when _these_ are your choices,” Druella once more threw a glare at Hermione.

“Hermione may be a Muggle-born witch raised by Muggles, never mind that there’s nothing wrong with that in the first place, but she has more honor, integrity, and goodness, than the House of Black has possessed collectively since its founding. I’m lucky to call her my friend.”

“You’ll regret this, Narcissa.”

“I doubt it, and if I do, it’s my burden to bear, based on a decision I’ve made of my own free will.”

“Just you wait and see,” Druella said, sighing dramatically before rising.

“We will send you an owl with the exact stipulations of our agreement.”

“You do that,” Druella said and turned to leave.

Narcissa’s gaze trailed her mother’s retreating back. She couldn’t believe that this might be the last time she’d ever have to deal with her.

“That went well,” Hermione said after the door closed behind Druella.

“I’m surprised you remained silent through it all. There was a moment I thought I saw smoke coming out of your ears.”

“It was difficult, no doubt, but this was your fight, and I had every confidence in you.”

Narcissa smiled.

“Thank you for defending me.”

“Of course,” Narcissa said.

“I’ve just realized, we’ve blackmailed your mother.”

“Yes. Well, it was her own fault to acquire all those safe houses for Voldemort and the Death Eaters. She’s lucky I only cut her allowance by half.”

“Indeed. If you ask me, that’s still too much money.”

“Probably.”

“That was not my point, though. Blackmail, not just mail for a Black.”

Narcissa stared unblinkingly at Hermione before rolling her eyes. “Seriously, dear?”

Hermione laughed.


	8. Resolve

Friday #15

They’d sent the list of their demands to her mother and then stored the evidence in the Black vault at Gringotts. Hermione had given her nightmares by recounting their break-in into the bank after Narcissa had made the mistake to inquire why she was receiving such hateful glares from the goblins upon their entry.

Her sister kept pestering Narcissa to fix the ‘ridiculous situation’ with Hermione, as Andromeda liked to put it. Hermione still joined her for their usual Fridays together, and they continued to exchange letters. However, since that incident on the couch weeks ago; since Narcissa’s declaration that a romantic relationship between them had no future, Hermione had backed off. There were some lingering glances, but mostly, it seemed that Hermione had settled and made peace with a platonic friendship between them.

Narcissa hated every minute of it, but she also didn’t know how to change it. Worse, she feared she had missed her chance and Hermione had moved on, given that the dark-haired witch had attended a date the previous Saturday. At least, that’s what Narcissa called it, even if Hermione had denied it. How else would one call a dinner meeting with a person not of their regular slate of friends and acquaintances?

Narcissa had ventured out of Black manor a few more times. They’d attended a couple more AA meetings, and Hermione had showed her some of her favorite Muggle places in London. Now that Narcissa thought about it, they were spending an extraordinary amount of time together, and in fact, even her dragon had become somewhat suspicious during his last few visits. However, that train of thought appeared to lead to too much trauma, so he’d always drop it, and Narcissa followed suit. Not that she was keen on having _that_ conversation with her son.

She’d applied for a course in potions to obtain her masters. She wasn’t sure what exactly she wanted to do with it, but it was a dream she’d had since her first year at Hogwarts, one she’d never dared to go after for many reasons, but now she felt she owed it to herself to try.

Did she also owe it to herself to give what was between her and Hermione a try? That assumed Hermione was still interested in her. The dark-haired witch was supposed to arrive in two hours. What if Narcissa surprised her at her flat? Hermione had said she’d always be welcome there. Taking a deep breath, Narcissa rushed to the bathroom to get ready.

Half an hour later, she stood in front of Hermione’s door, filled with nerves and doubts. She didn’t want to destroy what they had. Their friendship had been so helpful to them both. She was good for Hermione like this, as her friend. Would that translate to more? What was between them now was better than nothing, but what if there could be more and it slipped through her fingers because she was too scared?

Narcissa shook her head and knocked on the door. As soon as it swung open, she stormed inside. “What is your relationship with that Harpy’s player Gwendolyn Post?”

“Narcissa, hi. You’re here. In my flat. Wait, what?”

“Your date last Saturday?”

“It wasn’t a date. I’ve told you that already. I met with her to convince her to do an outreach event with our department, to help our work to create more opportunities for magical beings. You know how popular quidditch is. I thought we could draw in more people that way.”

“Oh.”

“When would I have time to date? I spend all my free time with you!”

“That’s just it! Remember when I told you the unbearable characteristic of life?”

Hermione frowned. “That nothing is unbearable?”

“I lied.”

“About what?”

“I... This isn’t easy. I’m... I don’t think I’ve ever done this before, not that I’d wanted to, but even if I did, I’d never dared, and—”

Hermione laughed. “You’re rambling. And now you’re pacing. What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“Yes! No, it depends.”

“All right. Do you want to sit down?”

“OK,” Narcissa said, halting, and following Hermione to her couch.

“What happened?”

“I’ve been talking to Andromeda a lot, and... well, any time I don’t spend with you, I often spend with her.”

“I’m glad you’ve reconnected.”

“Thanks to you.”

Hermione waved her off. “You’d have managed.”

“I’m not so sure about that. We Blacks are stubborn.”

“That I’ve noticed.”

“I’ve applied to start my master potions studies,” Narcissa rushed out. Why was she saying that? What was wrong with her? She didn’t come here to discuss that part of her life.

“That’s awesome! They’ll accept you for sure.”

“Thank you. Let’s hope so. There’s still quite a stain associated with... me, my name.”

“Maybe, but that won’t matter when you’re qualified, given that the wizengamot didn’t press any charges against you.”

“You’re always so optimistic,” Narcissa said. “I admire that.”

“Thank you, though my attitude here doesn’t stem from optimism. You are a talented potions brewer, and they’ll be lucky to have you.”

Narcissa laughed and shook her head. “How far we’ve come in these months.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, pulling her legs under her.

“Do you remember that night on the couch, several weeks ago, when we—”

Hermione raised her hand. “Don’t.”

“Oh.” It was too late. Narcissa’s gaze traveled to her fidgeting hands in her lap.

“I’ve just reached a point where I can... where I can live with it without... You don’t understand how much restraint I’ve had to...,” Hermione said, gritting her teeth.

Narcissa raised her head. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m trying to be your friend.”

“You _are_ my friend.”

“Yes, and that’s all we can ever be, and it’s hard when... when I want so much more, but I’m trying so hard to respect your boundaries, and—”

“You what?” Narcissa’s eyes widened. 

“Have I done something wrong? I... it’s hard, but that’s no excuse if I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry, but you are just so attractive and I’m not just talking about your looks, though they do get me in trouble, too, but it’s who you are, and how you treat me, and how you defended me to your mother. I know how difficult that was, and—”

“Hermione, dear, stop.” Narcissa chuckled. “You’ve misunderstood my reason for bringing up that night, and no, you haven’t made me uncomfortable, and Merlin knows, I’ve wished for weeks now you’d cross those boundaries, and—”

“What?”

Narcissa worried her lower lip. “I may have been too... hasty back then, in dismissing a romantic future between us.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I’m sorry. I’m especially sorry for any distress my cowardice has caused you.”

“You’re not a coward. I understand why you reacted the way you did, and I... it hurt, but I didn’t hold it against you.”

“You’re a better person than I am,” Narcissa said.

“That’s nonsense. Besides, we all change and grow, and in the end, you can always decide anew who you want to be.”

“It’s that easy? I just decide?”

“Well, yes. How else does this work? People make mistakes, and when they realize it, they can choose how to handle it: learn from it and do better or find excuses and double down.”

“You make life sound so simple sometimes, though I know yours wasn’t either. All the pain and hardship you’ve struggled and overcome.”

“I’m not... There’s a lot I still need to work on.”

“Don’t we all,” Narcissa said with a small smile.

“So back to the important point here. What do you want from me?”

“As always straight for the jugular.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

“I want you, that is, if you want me, too, still. And I’d understand if you didn’t because—”

Hermione surged forward and silenced Narcissa with a kiss; it was a mere press of their lips, but Narcissa’s heart stumbled to a halt before thrashing in her chest. Her hands rose, and she cupped Hermione’s cheeks, putting their foreheads together.

“I want you, too,” Hermione said, and her eyes shone.

“Good. That’s good.”

“Do you want to relocate this to my bedroom, or is this too forward?” Hermione asked, biting her lower lip.

Narcissa’s gaze dropped to Hermione’s lips. “No. Not to forward.”

Hermione smiled and rose before grabbing Narcissa’s hand and pulling her off the couch. They stared at each other for a long moment before Hermione led her to her bedroom.

***

Hermione struggled to believe this was real. She’d all but given up on their friendship morphing into more, and she hadn’t lied–she had reached a moment where she felt she could live with it, with just being Narcissa’s friend. 

Now, they were in bed together. Naked. Not just in bed, but in Hermione’s bed at her own flat, a place Narcissa had never visited before. 

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to regret it, and then we lose our friendship,” Hermione asked, gazing up at Narcissa who snugly laid on top of her. 

“Hmm, let me think about this,” she said, sliding their bodies together. 

A shudder ran through Hermione at the heat and smoothness between them. 

“We’re naked in your bed, and...” Narcissa slid one leg between Hermione’s, pressing up, causing a low moan to spill from the dark-haired witch’s lips. 

“You seem to be in the same situation as me,” Narcissa said, shifting in a way that allowed Hermione’s thigh to be painted with the evidence of her arousal. 

Hermione groaned, and she reached out to pull Narcissa closer. She sought her mouth, drawing Narcissa’s lower lip between her teeth, nibbling before sucking it into her mouth. 

Narcissa groaned, her eyes fluttered shut, and she sunk into the kiss, hungrily seeking Hermione’s hot tongue. 

Hermione’s hands ran up and down Narcissa’s back while the blonde witch deepened their kiss, rocking her hips into Hermione. 

Narcissa broke their kiss and their warm and shallow breaths mingled. “You do not know how often I’ve envisioned this. Dreamed of having you in my bed or being in yours. You are so dear to me,” Narcissa said, one hand cupping Hermione’s cheek before she trailed a finger from Hermione’s temple down her cheek. “I want this. All of it. I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”

“Me neither,” Hermione whispered with wide eyes. This was really happening. Truly not the Friday night she’d envisioned or come to expect. 

Connecting their lips once more, their kisses intensified, and rough breathing filtered through the room. 

Narcissa’s thigh pressed harder against Hermione’s heat, whose eyes fluttered shut at Narcissa’s closeness, and the arousal that flowed through her. 

Narcissa ended their kiss and sucked on the sensitive skin of Hermione’s neck before shifting to the side, her fingertips dancing along Hermione’s body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

Narcissa’s blue eyes shone and held an intensity that made Hermione shiver. 

Panting, Hermione ran trembling fingers through Narcissa’s blonde curls, accidentally leaking magic that shimmered and seeped in colorful bursts into the older witch.

Narcissa’s eyes widened before fluttering close. She groaned and lowered her head onto Hermione’s sternum. “What are you doing?”

***

Heat lashed through Narcissa, and she couldn’t remember ever being this aroused. The spark of Hermione’s magic gushed through her veins, leaving a trail of excitement and longing that Narcissa felt etched into her very bones. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Hush. It’s fine. Just... unexpected,” Narcissa muttered, trembling. 

Narcissa kissed Hermione again, while shifting her arm between them, seeking the heat between the dark-haired witch’s legs. 

Both witches groaned when Narcissa’s fingers trailed through Hermione’s wetness. 

Hermione clutched Narcissa’s back, her face a mixture of concentrated tension and relief. 

Narcissa’s gaze locked on Hermione’s face, taking in her expressive eyes that struggled to stay open, and a sense of wonder filled Narcissa. She didn’t deserve the affection of Hermione, but she’d try to earn it for the rest of her life. 

Her fingers shifted, playing between Hermione’s legs, she chased the dark-haired witch higher and higher. 

Hermione’s body glistened in a sheen of sweat, straining against Narcissa’s altering movements, who turned languid strokes into rapid circles until Hermione’s body shuddered and trembled against her, while a weak “Narcissa,” fled her lover’s lips as the blonde witch guided her through a series of aftershocks. 

Hermione chuckled and covered her eyes with one hand. 

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, it’s just... this always seems to happen. When I want something so badly it hurts, I don’t get it. Nothing resolves or gives, but the moment I accept it and let it go, things miraculously work out.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened “This is something you wanted so badly it hurt?” Narcissa was achingly familiar with that feeling, though she’d never imagined being on the receiving end of it for someone else; someone who meant the world to her.

“That’s the part you focused on, huh? I seem to remember you teasing me for something similar.”

“Well,” Narcissa said. 

“I want you, us, so badly it hurt, yes. “

Narcissa shook her head, disbelief and awe coursing through her in equal measures. 

“Now, though, I want to fulfill a fantasy of mine, if you’re up for it,” Hermione said, her intense gaze causing a low tug of arousal to swell in Narcissa’s stomach. 

“I doubt I’d not be up for one of your fantasies.”

“Oh goody,” Hermione said before claiming Narcissa’s lips in a hard, open-mouthed kiss.

The taste and scent of Hermione made Narcissa dizzy with want, and before she registered it fully, Hermione had flipped their positions, now laying on top of the blonde witch. “Smooth,” she said, which made Hermione laugh, and now Narcissa could see how far down her flushes spread. 

Hermione kissed and licked down her chest, sucking at Narcissa’s breasts before trailing her lips down her stomach. 

Narcissa threw her head back and moaned. This too had been one of her recurring fantasies, and her hands clutched the bedsheet when Hermione’s destination became clear. She wanted it, in ways she couldn’t put into words, but it also terrified her because this wasn’t something she’d ever experienced and her nerves lit up, and without conscious thought, her mind reached out to Hermione, pushing her thoughts and emotions into the dark-haired witch’s head. 

Hermione groaned and halted. “What... Merlin,” she panted. 

“Sorry,” Narcissa mumbled, her legs closing around Hermione. 

“No, it’s fine. Just... startling and intense. Do you want to stop?”

“No!”

Hermione chuckled. “All right then,” she muttered, spreading Narcissa’s legs, and ducking her head between them. 

Narcissa sobbed the moment Hermione’s scorching tongue touched her, and with sure and fast dexterity she propelled Narcissa near the edge. 

The blonde witch’s hands shot to Hermione’s head, drawing her closer while her release crashed through her, her back bowing and a long moan filling the room.

Hermione placed lingering kisses on Narcissa’s mound before climbing back up, connecting their lips in a soft kiss. “I love you.”

With tears in her eyes, Narcissa stroked Hermione’s cheek. “I love you, too.”

Hermione’s face light up with pure joy as she leaned into the caress. 

“You found me dressed in black,” Narcissa muttered, tears tumbling down her cheeks.

***

“Hermione, dear, there’s a man with a box at your door,” Narcissa called.

“Oh, hello, Tom,” Hermione said after leaving her office. “How are you? Is Sam any better?”

“Hey, Hermione. Yeah. He’s loads better. Thank you.”

“What have you got for me?”

“This here and some letters. Thought I’d bring it up all together.”

“That’s sweet of you. I appreciate it.” Hermione grasped the items. “Tell Tom I said hi.”

“Will do. Take care!” He waved at her and left.

Hermione ambled to the table and put the parcel down, inspecting the letters. “There’s one from my parents. I wonder why they didn’t just call.”

“This is how Muggles deliver mail?” Narcissa asked, stepping next to Hermione. “How inefficient.”

“Because nocturnal birds are the better option,” Hermione muttered.

“They are.”

“You just like them because they are rude.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s probably also why you get along so well with Crookshanks.”

Narcissa folded her arms in front of her chest. “You were saying something about a letter from your parents?”

“Right,” Hermione said and opened the envelope. “Oh,” she said.

“What?”

“They’re inviting us for tea. This Sunday, at their new place.”

“Us? As in you and me?”

“Yes, is there a different us I don’t know about?”

“What?”

“Never mind. I’m sorry. This stresses me out a bit.”

“You didn’t tell them about us?”

“No, hence the stressed-out part.”

“Do you... are you expecting them to be upset?”

Hermione fell on the couch, the letter dangling in her hand. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What aspect of... of us is worrisome to you?”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she dropped the letter, hurrying over to Narcissa. “I’m not... Merlin, I’m sorry. I’m not worried about us, and there’s nothing they can do or say that will change how I feel for you, or how much I want to be with you.” She grasped Narcissa’s hands.

The blonde witch’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad you feel that way,” she said in a low tone before pressing a soft kiss on Hermione’s lips. “But it’s unrealistic to expect that their reaction won’t affect us. You love your parents, and you’ve just gotten them back. I... I don’t want to stand in your way.”

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing. Just that I wouldn’t make you choose. I’d understand, and—”

“You’ve lost your mind!”

“I’m trying to be thoughtful and considerate.”

“By saying you’ll leave me if my parents don’t approve of us?”

“That’s a rather radical interpretation of what I’ve said.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Narcissa sighed, clasped their hands, and led them to the couch. “Let’s sit down.”

They sat on the same couch, sideways, facing each other.

“I wasn’t worried about my parents’ disapproval.”

“But you said—”

“I meant that in general, to let you know I’m in this, for real. There are not holdbacks or doubts. I love you, and I want to be with you, and what other people say or do, I don’t care. I won’t give up on us.”

Narcissa smiled and cupped Hermione’s cheek. “I love you, too, and I feel the same, but it would grieve me beyond measure if our involvement ruined your relationship with your parents.

“Merlin, woman, listen to me. It’s not their disapproval I’m worried about.”

“Then what is it?”

“That they will mercilessly tease me and embarrass me with old childhood stories and baby pictures,” Hermione said, pouting.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!”

“Well, if that’s the case, then I’m sure you’ll survive it, and we’ll be fine. I’m actually looking forward to such stories and pictures, even if they don’t move. Do you think we could animate them somehow, or are we risking what happened to Dr. Frankenstein?”

“Wait, what?” Hermione laughed. “No! You do realize that’s a fictional story, right?”

“So is Sleeping Beauty.”

“That’s real? That really happened?”

“That a witch cursed a person and made them fall into a deathlike slumber?”

“Well, if you put it like that.”

“So can we animate your baby pictures?”

Hermione dropped her face into her hands. “No!”

***

“Are you going to fill us in on why you’ve been so absent these last few months? I’m assuming that’s related to you pacing a hole in our floor,” Ginny said, sitting next to Harry in their flat. They had invited Hermione over, and after having canceled on them too many times, Hermione had agreed to join them, planning on telling them about Narcissa. However, now that she’d arrived, her nerves got the better of her.

She meant what she told Narcissa. She wouldn’t leave her, no matter how her friends and family reacted, yet that didn’t make this any easier. Not to mention, the tea meeting with her parents tomorrow. Why did everything always happen at the same time?

She halted. “I’m dating Narcissa,” she blurted out, wringing her hands.

Silence.

Harry took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt.

Ginny gazed at Harry before finding Hermione’s gaze. “Are you joking? Is this some prank that Harry and Ron set up with you?”

“What?” That wasn’t the reaction Hermione had imagined, and she’d pictured plenty of different scenarios.

“I just told them the other day that I thought you fancied witches. Of course, Ron said that would explain why you guys didn’t work out. As if,” Ginny said with a small grimace.

“I wouldn’t play a prank like that,” Harry said, finally placing his glasses back on top of this nose.

“You’re really dating Narcissa Malfoy?”

“Black,” both Harry and Hermione corrected, sharing a small smile.

“Whatever,” Ginny said and waved them off. “You’re still shagging Draco’s mum.”

Harry groaned. “Ginny.”

She swatted him. “Stop acting like you’re a prude.”

He cleared his throat. “Since when have you two been together?”

“We’ve… we’ve been friends for months now, ever since Draco asked me to check on his mother, but—”

Ginny burst out laughing, wiping her eyes. “I don’t think that’s the checking up he had in mind, ‘Mione,” she said.

“You’re on something tonight,” Hermione said, folding her arms. “As I was saying, we’ve been friends for a while but the… romantic aspect is a more recent development.”

“So you haven’t had sex yet?”

Hermione felt heat travel up her neck and spill into her cheeks. She now understood why her subconscious must have prevented her from talking about this to Ginny a while back. “I didn’t say that.”

“Ohh, I want all the details. Is she good? I bet she is,” Ginny said, leaning forward.

“I don’t,” Harry said, at which both witches’ heads snapped in his direction.

“I mean, I don’t want any details, not that… not that I’ve thought about Narcissa… like that.” His gaze found his feet.

“We’re not talking about my sex life.”

“Spoilsport. Well, at least you have one. I was worried about you.”

“Not everything in life revolves around sex. Not to mention, there are more important aspects to a relationship than that.”

“Uh-oh,” Ginny said and shook her head.

“What?” Hermione knew she’d regret that question.

“Is she _that_ terrible?”

Hermione closed her eyes. Yes. Regret was plenty about. She sat down. “No, Ginny, Narcissa is bloody fantastic in bed. Can we drop that now?”

“Please,” Harry said.

“Fine,” Ginny muttered. “Who else knows? Ohh, let me be there when you tell Ron.”

“You guys are the first ones I’ve told. We’ll have tea with my parents tomorrow, and I want to tell them about Narcissa.”

“You must be serious about her. I’m happy for you,” Harry said. “And for Narcissa. She’s pretty great, but you’ve figured that out yourself,” he said and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes. She is,” Hermione said.

“Wow. Your heart-eyes are a bit gross. Do you think your parents will be OK with it? You know, given that Narcissa is… how old are your parents? Because either way, they’re going to think she’s robbing the cradle.” Ginny chuckled.

Hermione sighed. That truly was a terrible joke, and she regretted ever having uttered it.

“My parents are fifty-one and fifty-three.”

“How old is Narcissa? Forty-eight?”

“She’s forty-six.”

“So they could be mates.”

“What does it matter?” Harry asked. “Who cares about age differences? As long as they are happy. You are happy, right?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, feeling her eyes tear up. Was there a way to blame it on allergies?

“That’s all that matters,” Harry said before leaning forward and hugging Hermione.

***

“Hermione, dear, maybe we should wait a little longer before telling your parents about us?”

“Nonsense. If we do that, then we’ll never hear the end of it. Since they’ve been back they... they want to know everything.”

“Well, you can’t really blame them.”

“I don’t. That’s why we’re here.”

Narcissa groaned. “They invited us to tea, that doesn’t mean we have to—”

Hermione frowned and halted in front of her parents’ front door. “Don’t make that sound.”

“Excuse me?”

“That... sound. It reminds me of last night. I don’t want to feel like that when we’re about to have tea with my parents.”

Narcissa swallowed a laugh. “That is entirely your fault.”

“You weren’t complaining then,” Hermione said.

“I thought you didn’t want to be reminded of the things you did to me last night?”

Hermione grumbled and stomped her foot. “Enough. I’m going to ring their doorbell now.” And so, she did.

“Hermione, sweetheart,” her mother said once she opened the door. She pulled Hermione close before turning to hug Narcissa as well. “Narcissa. It’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you, you, too,” Narcissa said, returning the embrace.

“Come on in. Your father baked his famous sugar free marble cake.”

They entered the house and followed Hermione’s mother into the dining room.

“Sit down,” she said, pointing at the set table.

“Here they are!” Hermione’s father entered, carrying a tray with a cake on top.

“Hello, Dad,” Hermione said.

“Hello, sweetie,” he said, put down the cake and leaned over to kiss Hermione’s head. “I’m happy you could join us, too, Narcissa. We are in your debt for the potion.”

“Oh, no. Don’t worry about that,” Narcissa said.

Halfway through the cake, which tasted like chalk, apparently, sugar was a necessary ingredient, Hermione’s mother turned to Narcissa. “So how long have you been dating my daughter?”

Narcissa coughed, grabbed a napkin, and held it in front of her mouth, fearing she’d spit out dusty bits of cake without it. She cleared her throat after managing to swallow. “Excuse me?”

“Dear, couldn’t you have waited until after cake?”

“I couldn’t bear the suspense anymore. I also want to know if I won the bet.”

“What bet?” Hermione asked.

“That you two are dating,” her mother said nonplussed.

Hermione and Narcissa exchanged a glance. “Yes, Mom. We’re dating.”

“I knew it!” Her mother cried, slapping the table. “You’ll clean the kitchen for the next month!”

“You bet against us?” Hermione said, sounding offended.

“Sweetie, I just... I didn’t... This is your mother’s fault. She goaded me into it.”

“How did I do that? I’ve got eyes, and I’ve seen the way Narcissa looked at Hermione in Australia. It’s not my fault you’re bad at reading body language.

“It’s the masks. I wear masks all day.”

Hermione frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Exactly!” Her father said and jumped out of his chair. “More tea?” He left for the kitchen before anyone had a chance to reply.

“Don’t worry. He’s just embarrassed. We’re happy for you. Narcissa, you seem like a lovely person.”

“Thank you,” Narcissa said, sure she’d never understand the workings of Muggle families, but she’d take it along with the warmth and affection that accompanied it over the lifeless and stark existence she’d led growing up and way into adulthood.

***

One Year Later

They had planned a surprise dinner party at Black manor to celebrate Narcissa’s potions master. They’d invited their immediate family and friends, and Hermione, joined by Draco, and Andromeda, was preparing for the festivities, while Narcissa was out on various errands.

“Did you know that my mother doesn’t like surprises?” Draco asked.

“Really? She’s been quite fond of some of mine,” Hermione said with a grin.

Draco grimaced, while Andromeda laughed.

“I can imagine, but don’t traumatize my nephew, Hermione,” Andromeda said.

“Yes, please, Granger. I’ll be in therapy forever. That’s not what I had in mind when I asked you to talk to my mother,” he grumbled.

“Be careful what you wish for and all that,” Hermione said.

“Well, at least it worked. Most actions have unintended side effects.” He sighed.

“Hey!” Hermione called.

“What?”

“That sounded suspiciously like an insult,” she said.

Draco leaned closer and muttered, “because it was, Granger.”

“Be nice, children,” Andromeda chided. “We still have a lot to do before the guests arrive.”

“Are you sure mother will be gone long enough?”

“Yes. The errands we sent her on will take a while,” Andromeda said.

Two hours later, their guests arrived and congregated in the decorated dining hall.

Hermione and Narcissa’s relationship had surprised people, though there’d been no issues, and aside from a few mean-spirited articles in the Prophet, they’d encountered mostly acceptance.

Hermione couldn’t believe her mother had bet on her relationship just because she apparently had seen something between them when they were with them in Australia to restore their memories. Ron had called her mental and then cracked a joke about her being Draco’s stepmother, which had earned him a hard smack on the back of his head. Even though Hermione must still endure Ginny’s teasing, she and Harry were happy for her, the latter no surprise, given his soft spot for Narcissa.

Hermione didn’t know how Narcissa’s conversation with Draco had gone. She had told him on her own, and when Hermione had asked about it, she’d only grunted and said, ‘it went,’ as if that explained anything. He’d been mostly his usual self around her, though sometimes she caught him eying her with this blank stare of disbelief. She had to be careful not to laugh or Narcissa would bemoan that she was messing with her son. Molly had sniffed, still mourning that Ron and Hermione hadn’t worked out, but the Weasley parents still embraced them. Best of all, Narcissa’s mother had heeded their warnings, and after dropping the lawsuit, they hadn’t heard from her again.

All of them were here today to celebrate Narcissa’s accomplishment, and now they were waiting for the blonde witch to return home.

The door opened, and Narcissa, laden with multiple bags, entered the room. “Hermione, dear, I don’t know why Dottie ushered me in here, but you owe me. What in Merlin’s name do we need with—”

“Surprise!!” Everyone yelled.

Narcissa’s eyes widened, and she stood frozen in the door to the dining hall.

Hermione rushed to her side to take the bags out of her hands before returning and embracing Narcissa. “Hey. I hope you don’t mind this little get together,” she whispered in her ear.

Narcissa returned the embrace. “It’s fine. What is it for? It’s not my birthday.”

“It’s for your potions master! We wanted to celebrate you,” Hermione said, taking Narcissa’s hand and facing the rest of their friends and family.

“Oh,” Narcissa breathed. “Thank you.”

“Congratulations, Mother,” Draco said and stepped forward to hug his mother.

“Thank you, dragon. It’s good to see you. Everyone. Thank you all for joining us.”

“Hear, hear,” Andromeda said, raising her glass, and everyone else joined.

“Have you decided what you’ll do with your masters? We could use a new potions’ professor at Hogwarts,” Minerva said.

Narcissa laughed. “No, thank you. I’m not made for teaching. I’m thinking about starting my own business. We shall see.”

Minerva sighed. “Too bad. Let me know if you change your mind. Congratulations, again.”

“Thank you. It’s good to see you,” Narcissa said.

“My father can run ads for you in the Quibbler if you’d like,” Luna said.

“That’s sweet. Thank you. We’re not there yet, but I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” Narcissa said, accepting a glass of water from Hermione. “Thank you, dear.”

“We’re also always in need of decent brewers at the ministry,” Draco said.

“That’s so kind of you, dragon, to call me a decent brewer,” Narcissa said with a chuckle.

Draco cleared his throat. “That’s not what I meant, Mother,” he said.

“I know, sweetheart. Don’t worry, and, no offense, but I’d rather teach at Hogwarts than work for the ministry.”

“Ouch,” Hermione said laughing. “It’s funny how people think that adding ‘no offense’ to something makes their statement less offensive.”

“Did I hurt your feelings, dear?” Narcissa asked, smiling at Hermione, her eyes aglow.

“On that note, look, there’s Neville,” Draco said and hurried away.

Hermione’s parents joined them, and afterwards, Harry and Ginny appeared at their sides while Andromeda seemed lost in an animated conversation with Luna.

Hermione loved seeing their friends and family together, but most of all, she loved that they all had gathered to celebrate Narcissa.

***

“I don’t know how I ever managed clean-ups without magic,” Hermione said, dropping onto the couch next to Narcissa.

“It makes life easier.”

“Because you’ve grown up doing hard manual labor,” Hermione said, snuggling up against Narcissa.

“No, but having parents who punish you with magic isn’t fun either.”

“Right. I’m sorry. Your parents sucked,” Hermione said and yawned.

Narcissa chuckled. “I like your parents, though.”

“They are all right,” Hermione said. “You just like them because they adore you. I’d told you they would, but no, you were all worried they’d hate you for being so old.”

“You’re calling me old?”

“What?”

“You said, and I quote ‘they’d hate you for being so old,’ that implies that I am ‘so old,’ to quote you again.”

“Hmm, a quote within a quote,” Hermione muttered. “Seriously, though. You’re not old. Wizards and witches live for ages. You haven’t even scratched middle age.”

“Says the woman who is twenty-three years old,” Narcissa grumbled.

“What can I say? You like them young.”

Narcissa swatted her. “Get off me.”

“What? No!” Hermione said, tightening her hold on Narcissa, shifting her face into the blonde witch’s neck, pressing a soft kiss against Narcissa’s throat.

“Mmhmm, that won’t get you out of trouble.”

“You smell so good,” Hermione said with a sigh. “How do you do that? You ran errands, played the guest of honor at the party, and now you still smell like that.”

“Compliments won’t work either,” Narcissa said but pulled Hermione closer to her.

“That’s too bad,” Hermione said. “Do you remember that tea with my parents, though?”

“How could I forget? That cake was dreadful. It’s a good thing your father has other redeeming qualities. He can’t bake to save his life,” Narcissa said,

Hermione laughed. “I always blamed it on the sugar, but you might be onto something.”

***

“You’re really not mad about the party? I know you must have been tired,” Hermione asked, later that night, or early morning, when she joined Narcissa in their bed.

The blonde witch took off her glasses and placed them, along with her book, on the nightstand. “Why would I be mad because our family and friends have decided to celebrate an accomplishment of mine?”

“I don’t know. Draco said you don’t like surprises.”

“Hmm, he’s not wrong, though I’ve enjoyed all of yours so far.”

“I told him that, too,” Hermione said, having the decency to look sheepish.

“Merlin, Hermione. You need to stop messing with him.”

“Don’t worry. He gives back as good as he gets.”

“At least that,” Narcissa said with a sigh.

“Hey!”

Narcissa leaned over and pecked Hermione’s lips. “There’s one difference.”

“That is?”

“When Draco grew up, most surprises were... negative, so no, I did not like them, and preferred not to be surprised. With you however... everything is different. Your surprises are... delightful, or sweet. You don’t mean any harm, even if you were to do something that wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“Why would I mean you harm?”

“Good question. Either way. It was very kind of all of you to do this for me tonight. I... I worked hard for my masters, but I did that for myself, and I didn’t expect any recognition. Still, it felt good, tonight.”

“I’m glad.”

Narcissa held Hermione’s gaze, struggling to believe how much her life had changed within the last eighteen months. She could never have envisioned such happiness, such a content life and a connection unlike anything she’d ever dreamed of — the life she now shared with Hermione would have blown any fantasy out of the water. For the first time in her life, the darkness that had been her constant companion had drained away and was replaced by joy and laughter. While she wasn’t sure she’d deserved such a life, she’d kill to keep it.   
  


The End  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I enjoy and appreciate your feedback. You can also reach me at Habren@rocketmail.com


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